A Journey of One
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: A sequel to A California Rose. Following Jack's death, Rose leaves Masline and embarks upon a journey of exploration and self discovery.
1. Prologue: Maid of Constant Sorrows

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Prologue**

_I am a maid of constant sorrows  
I've seen trouble all my days  
I'm going back to California  
Place where I was partly raised._

_Sunday, May 11, 2003  
Masline, California_

Rose stood slowly from where she had been sitting on the cracked, buckled curb, wiping her eyes. The warm spring sunlight shone down on her, soothing her grief and strengthening her resolve.

Looking around, she took stock of her situation. She was going to leave Masline, going to start her own life outside of the expectations of those who knew her—but how? All she had were the clothes on her back and the few items in her purse, none of which would really help her in her journey.

She wouldn't go home, though, not even to get the things she needed. After the events of the night of the earthquake, now a week past, she knew another side of her mother, one that had shocked and disturbed her. She had known that Ruth was ambitious—she had tried to raise Rose in that mold, even going so far as to arrange a marriage with a man she considered to be suitable—but Rose had never imagined that her mother would take advantage of the horrifying cataclysm to increase her own wealth and status.

Such things were not new, of course—people had been taking unfair advantage of disasters since time immemorial—but Rose had never wanted to think that her own mother would be one of them. Cal's reaction to the earthquake had not surprised her—she had long since seen him for what he was, though it had only been that day that she had decided to break away from him—but Ruth's agreement with Cal's plan to use the disaster to their advantage had made her uneasy. Who knew what else Ruth was capable of, if she would take advantage of other people's fear and shock and misery to benefit herself?

No, Rose couldn't go home, but neither could she set out with what she had. And there was no one she could go to for help. Her friends, as dearly as she loved them, would never understand her need to set out on her own, leaving everything she had known behind. Already grieving over the loss of three of their own—Fabrizio, Trudy, and Jack—they might well see her leaving as a betrayal, or conspire to keep her there. She might see them again one day, but for now she had to go out on her own.

There was no one else she could turn to. Only Cal knew for sure that she was even alive, and she had sworn him to silence, in exchange for her silence about his responsibility for Jack Dawson's death.

Jack. Rose felt tears well up again as she thought of him—the man who she had loved, who had stood at her side through the trials of the past year, who had helped her to see what was inside herself—a strong, courageous woman who could withstand adversity, who could go on and continue with her life when hope was gone.

Rose blinked back the tears, straightening her back and looking around. It was because of Jack that she had survived the earthquake, and had sent Cal away, and had at last made the decision to go on and start a new life. She had made a promise to him that night, promising to survive and go on with life, no matter what. Jack had pleaded with her to make that promise, knowing that she could survive, if only she could find the strength to carry on. It had been too late for him—he had died a short time later, though Rose hadn't discovered his death until morning—but not for her. She had her whole life ahead of her, time in which to live and love and make the most of every moment.

And it was in order to keep that promise that she was leaving everything she had known behind. Her eyes falling on the rubble of what had once been a store, Rose walked toward it, her conscience warring with her need to survive. It would be stealing to take the items still intact in the rubble—but most of the valuable items had already been taken by looters, and what was left was unlikely to be salable. Most of it would undoubtedly find its way to a landfill. Was it really so wrong to take a few items destined for the trash? Few people would object if she dug through a garbage can itself and took things from it, so long as she didn't use what she found to harm others, and the more damaged goods that were removed, the less cleaning up there would be later.

Squelching the voice that told her that what she was doing was wrong, Rose gingerly walked amongst the rubble, carefully so as not to injure her ankle again. Picking amongst the ruins, she found a dirt-encrusted school backpack and began to fill it with items, taking only what she thought could never be sold.

In spite of the looting, there were a lot of things that hadn't been taken—still usable, but damaged enough that they would be consigned to the trash. The rubble had once been a Big Lots, a store that sold cheap, second-rate items, or items that had not sold well at higher prices, or items that were being discontinued. Very little of the merchandise was the luxury items favored by looters, and the small amounts that were didn't interest her. Rose was interested in surviving, not in collecting stolen goods that she had no use for, and so, picking slowly and carefully through the rubble, Rose collected those things she would need.

XXXXX

It was early afternoon by the time Rose was ready to go. Hefting her heavy load on her back, she secured her purse against her side with a belt around her waist, keeping it from swinging and getting in the way. A few additional items had been stuffed into the purse and into the pockets of a pair of purloined jeans. Her old outfit, the dress and shoes, was carefully hidden at the bottom of her pack. The dress was damaged, but she wasn't ready to give it up, in spite of the faint blood and soot stains still remaining in it even after washing.

Looking around, Rose turned and started slowly toward the hills surrounding the Masline Valley, low hills that slowly grew higher to the east, eventually becoming the foothills of a small mountain range. Beyond that, the larger mountains rose before her, and beyond them, the desert.

It would be a long journey, but she was ready for it. This was the beginning. She didn't know when or where it would end, or if it ever would, but that was a part of what she had learned about life. There was no predicting what would happen, no matter how hard a person tried. In spite of mankind's assertion that it had conquered the world, conquered nature, there were some things that could never be conquered—and the unpredictability of life was one of those things. No one had expected the earthquake, or the damage wrought by it, just as she had never expected the twists and turns that life had given her.

It was time to go, to see whatever the world had to offer, and to make each day count. No one could ever be sure of what the next day would bring, least of all her. Whatever happened in her life, she intended to make the most of it.

As she reached the top of the hill, she turned and looked back for a moment, remembering. From this distance, the town looked almost as it had before. It was almost as though it had never happened. But it had, and it had marked the end of her old life and the beginning of her new.

Turning away, Rose continued walking east, her eyes looking ahead to the future. She was on her own now; her old life had ended and a new one had risen from the ashes of tragedy. She had been tested and strengthened by it, and she knew now that she could make it. She would never give up, and she would never go back.


	2. The Wayfaring Stranger 1

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter One**

_I am a poor, wayfaring stranger  
Wandering through this world of woe  
But there's no sickness  
No toil or danger  
In that bright land  
To which I go._

_Wednesday, May 21, 2003_

Rose walked slowly along the high mountain ridge, her thoughts turned inward. She had been wandering alone for ten days now, letting the quiet and solitude of the wilderness soothe her troubled heart.

In spite of the destruction wrought by the earthquake, the mountains that she had come to were peaceful, something she badly needed after the weeks of grief and pain. The solidness of the mountain heights provided a sense of security, one that she couldn't find anywhere else. In spite of the cataclysm only a few weeks past, the unbroken masses of stone still stood, as they had for millions of years before. In this place, the damage had been minimal.

Aftershocks continued to rock the land, but Rose paid them no heed. Some rocks had been dislodged from their places, and the faces of the open ridges had been changed by the shaking earth, but this only served to increase her isolation in this place once she got past the barriers put up by nature. She was alone.

She stopped, leaning against a boulder overlooking the peaks and valleys beyond, the freshly broken rock giving mute evidence of the cataclysm that had occurred so recently. Looking out from her high vantage point, she looked down at the sprawling towns in the distant valleys, the distance hiding the damage wrought by the earthquake. Only blackened blocks of what had once been buildings clearly showed what had happened.

Setting down her pack, Rose perched on the cracked boulder, her mind once again turned inward. She was alone, in more ways than one. She had chosen to walk alone, to give herself a chance to heal, but her solitude wasn't just physical. She was as alone inside as she was outside.

She was alone in the world now. She could never go back to Masline, not after what had happened. She was as good as dead to her mother and friends, and only Cal knew that she had survived the night of the cataclysm. He wouldn't tell anyone, she was certain—his freedom, and perhaps his life, depended upon his silence, upon his keeping his side of the bargain that he had made with Rose.

No, she couldn't go back, but she wasn't sure whether she was going forward, either. She didn't want to think about the future, about struggling to make her way alone in the world. It was enough, for now, to get through each day, to pass the next ridge, traverse the next canyon. She didn't know where she was going, and she wasn't ready to think about it, either.

Slowly but surely, she was beginning to heal from the traumas of the past month, though she cried herself to sleep every night, and Jack was never far from her mind. She was able to get through the day now, her attention focused on the world around her. When she felt the grief begin to overwhelm her, she pushed the thoughts aside, saving them for the night, when she had nothing to do but look inside herself.

The sun was growing low in the sky, and another night would soon be upon her, another night when she would make a sparse camp with a small fire that turned to ashes by morning, while she wept and then slept in exhaustion on the hard ground. But in spite of the discomfort, she wasn't ready to go back to civilization yet, nor was she ready to face people. For now, she still needed to be alone, to have time to heal. When she felt stronger inside, she would return to the world of people. Until then, she would continue on as she was, letting the peace of solitude ease her troubled soul, and knowing with each sunrise that she had survived, and was keeping her promise.


	3. The Wayfaring Stranger 2

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Two**

_Wednesday, June 1, 2003_

Rose opened her eyes as the first faint rays of light penetrated the branches of the tree she had slept under. Stretching, she unwrapped the bedspread from around herself, sitting up and setting her feet on the dirt beyond her bed of pine needles.

The fire lay in a cleared area some fifteen feet away, a few coals still glowing faintly. She was getting better at the skills needed for survival. But eventually, she would have to return to civilization, if only because her supplies of food were running low, and her knowledge of where to get more was limited at best.

Pulling a comb from her pack, Rose walked to the edge of the ridge she had camped on, looking out over the mist-enshrouded mountains beyond. As she combed it out and tied it back, out of the way, she perched on a boulder, gazing out over the peaks and canyons, her thoughts turned inward.

As it often had since she had left Masline behind, her sleep had been disturbed by nightmares, images of Cal and of Jack—and of Jack's death—impinging upon her mind. Fragments of events, magnified by her sleeping imagination, combined together into a horrific drama in her sleep-enshrouded mind. But last night's dream had been different.

Always before, the dream had ended with Jack being shot, and Cal turning the gun on her. She would awaken in a cold sweat, whimpering pitifully in terror, crawling deeper into her makeshift bed in an attempt to hide from her memories, the horrifying events brought back into the forefront of her mind by the dream. Eventually, the world around her would penetrate her consciousness—the stars and branches overhead, the rustling of leaves or pine needles beneath her, the sounds of wildlife beyond her camp—and she would be brought back to the present, back to reality.

The dream had changed the night before. In the end, instead of watching in terror as Cal turned the gun on her, she had knelt down beside Jack, taking his already lifeless hands in hers, promising to never let go. Before she could say good-bye, the dream had ended, leaving her lying in her twisted comforter, tears running down her face as she abruptly awakened.

_Why did it change?_ she wondered, setting the comb aside and staring down the cliff at the trees and brush below. _Why did Cal disappear, leaving me alone with Jack? Could it be that the violence of that night is becoming secondary to my memories of Jack, of the promise I made? He wouldn't have wanted me to dwell on what happened forever—he knew that I would survive, that I had my whole life ahead of me. But we never had a chance to say good-bye._

And in a flash, Rose knew why the dream had changed. There had never been a good-bye, a funeral, a chance to gather with others and mourn Jack's death. There had only been the struggle to survive, to free herself from the world that had held her down. That the others had mourned for Jack, she had no doubt—his surviving friends would miss him deeply—but she had never had the chance to give him a proper good-bye. And so he filled her thoughts constantly, and she half-expected to meet him around the next bend in the trail, in the next canyon or on the next peak—any place that reminded her of him. But she never would. He was gone, and there was no bringing him back.

What she needed was the closure of a funeral. But there was no body, no burial, no friends and loved ones to mourn with. There was only her, alone on this mountain ridge.

Rose looked to the east, at the sun rising over the mountains and desert, and came to a decision. She would conduct a small, private memorial for Jack, alone here at sunrise. She would never forget him, or the way he had died, but it would be something.

Her fists clenched as she thought of his death, of the way Cal had shot him in the back in a fit of murderous rage. She would never be sure if Jack had been his intended target, or if it had been her, and Jack had simply gotten in the way. Whatever the reason, he had died that night, trapped inside the debris of collapsed walls—a slow, painful death, one that he had had time to comprehend and fear. But it had given him time to make her promise to go on without him—and to tell her that he loved her.

It had been such a waste—the sudden, violent death of a talented young artist, only twenty-one years old, a young man who, in spite of a troubled past, had worked to get beyond his questionable beginnings—and who might well have succeeded, had he not died that night.

But now was not a time to dwell on such things. Now was a time to honor his memory, and the time they had spent together—some of the happiest memories she had, as well as some of the most painful. He had been there for her in her darkest moments, and she would never forget how much that had meant to her. He had been one of her best friends, her lover, indeed, her soulmate. She would never forget him, or what they had shared.

Brushing off her clothes, Rose climbed atop the boulder, shading her eyes against the sunlight. _He would have loved this place,_ she thought, wondering if this place, this setting, was why it not occurred to her until now to hold his memorial service. It would help her to come to grips with what had happened, help her to say the good-bye she had never had a chance to say.

Closing her eyes against the sudden rush of tears, Rose sang out a song that seemed singularly appropriate for the occasion—for both of them.

_A Journey of One_. It was fitting, appropriate. Together, she and Jack had been strong. But now they were apart, and each had to go on alone, Rose in this world and Jack in the next, until the time came that they would be reunited—however long that might be. Opening her tear-filled eyes, Rose looked out at the sunrise, letting the tears spill down her cheeks.

"I love you, Jack," she whispered. "I love you, and I miss you. I'll never forget what we shared, or how much you meant to me. I'm free now—Cal won't dare to tell anyone that I survived. If I ever see any of the people I know again, it will be on my terms, in my own time. For now, I'm just taking life the way you did—living for the moment, making each day count. However long or short a life I live, I won't ever forget that. That was your gift to me—the freedom to make my own choices, and the courage to follow through with those choices. I'm alive, more than I ever was before."

She sank down on the boulder, resting her feet on the ground.

"I've been on my own for three weeks now, here in these mountains. I'm not sure of where I am, or where I'm going to go, but I know I'll figure those things out when the time is right. You would have loved this place—so beautiful, so peaceful. Maybe you do see it, or saw it before—I don't know. There was never enough time to learn those little things about each other. But I do know this—you saved me, in every way a person can be saved. I'm alive, really alive. I wouldn't be this way, if not for you. Right now, I'd be finishing my first year of college, and getting ready to marry Cal. That was a life I never wanted, but I never really saw a way out—until you came along and freed me from my cage. That was the most precious gift anyone ever gave me—more precious than Cal's money and jewelry, more precious than anything he could have given me. You opened my heart to life."

She stood, looking out across the peaks as a beam of sunlight landed upon them, lighting them up, blue and brilliant. Wiping her eyes, she went on with her eulogy.

"I love you, Jack, and I thank you—for everything. I'll never forget you, or what you did for me. My life is my own, thanks to you. You'll live on in my memory, a part of me—until we meet again." She gazed out at the mountain peaks, finding herself smiling for the first time, even through her tears. She hugged herself as a warm summer breeze blew around her, feeling, somehow, that Jack had heard her, and was himself saying farewell.

"Good-bye, Jack. Until eternity."


	4. The Wayfaring Stranger 3

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Three**

_Friday, June 3, 2003_

Rose stopped beneath the shade of a large oak tree, pulling out a bottle of water and sipping from it. The weather was growing rapidly warmer, even in the mountains, and she knew that the time had come to return to civilization.

She didn't really want to return yet, but she didn't have much choice. She was almost out of food, and had been lucky to make what she had stretch this far. She knew that she'd lost more weight, both from the strenuous exercise and the lack of food, but she hadn't really felt it necessary to go back to the world of people before. She had come across houses and small towns in her wanderings, but had avoided them. Now, she had no choice. She had to either go back or starve.

Replacing the cap on the bottle of water, she stepped into the sunlight, shading her eyes as she considered which way to go. She wasn't quite sure where she was, but she could see the buildings of a town in the valley below. In her desire to avoid people, she had strayed from the well-kept trails, forging ahead through the less-traveled parts of the mountains. She wasn't sure where the nearest trail was, or which way would lead her to the town, or any town, for that matter—she had no real preference—but she had grown adept at fighting her way through the chaparral, or walking along steep cliffs, narrow ridges, and animal trails.

Distances in the mountains could be deceptive, with nearby objects seeming infinitely far away, and distant objects seeming near. _Especially,_ she thought, _when I haven't had enough to eat in several days._ The problem was compounded by the changing landscape—the earthquake had rearranged the terrain sufficiently in some places to make it nearly impassable, and aftershocks still rocked the land on a regular basis, making travel hazardous at times. Rose had learned to watch and listen closely for signs of falling rocks and crumbling cliffs, having come close to falling victim to them more than once now.

Yes, it was definitely time to go back, but getting there could be a problem. The shortest way was not necessarily the best, especially with cliffs and rock falls between her and her destination. Still, she had to find a way into the mountain valley, and there must be a way to get there—after all, she'd found trash at her last campsite, evidence that someone had been there. And she doubted they'd flown. There wasn't any place to land out here.

_Besides,_ she reasoned, _I made my way here on foot, and even if I can't get to the valley below, I can always backtrack to one of the roads I crossed._ She still had a couple of packets of trail mix, so she wouldn't starve in the time it took her to find her way back to civilization, and roads were a sure sign that people were nearby.

Tucking the bottle into the pocket of the jacket she wore tied around her waist, Rose started walking. The closest town was certainly the one in the valley below, and there was most likely a way to get to it—even if it did mean climbing up and down a few steep hills. She could do it. She was stronger than she had been before, and she was determined to survive, whatever it took.

XXXXX

Several hours later, the town seemed no closer than it had been that morning, but she had come across a sign declaring that wilderness permits were required beyond that point—something she had never even considered. Still, all that would happen if she were caught was that she would be sent back to town, which was where she was trying to go anyway. She had started along the part of the trail that headed toward the road, though she had seen no people, nor any sign that anyone had been there recently. It should have struck her as odd that such a trail would be unpopulated on a pleasant summer day, even on a weekday, but in her haste to get to the road, it never occurred to her to question it.

Rose realized her bad judgment when she came to the reason for the lack of people on the trail—the earthquake had wiped out a section of trail, breaking part of it off to land in the canyon below and sending boulders to cover the part remaining. Still, she was so close to the road—she had heard a vehicle passing as she contemplated her situation—that she had to try to cross the section of trail, as narrow and dangerous as it was.

It was a mistake. Even as she gingerly stepped onto the narrow width of trail remaining, she felt the ground shudder in another aftershock. In that moment, the small boulder disturbed by her feet was jarred loose, providing just the impact needed to finish cracking off the remaining passage.

It crumbled, and even as Rose tried to leap back to safety, the loose rocks tripped her, sending her sliding and tumbling into the canyon below.


	5. The Wayfaring Stranger 4

The tall, dark-haired young woman walked along the canyon floor, pausing as the ground rumbled under her, as it had many times in the past month following the biggest earthquake in California history. Nearby, she could hear the sound of rocks and dirt tumbling down the canyon wall, and she ducked behind a large tree to wait it out.

As the aftershock ended, and the crash of rocks and dirt ceased, she heard the sound of something larger hitting the ground with a thud, along with a moan of pain. Cautiously, she peeked out from behind the tree, then crept forward. If it was a wounded animal, it could be dangerous, but she wanted to investigate to see what it was.

At the base of the cliff, she found a young, redheaded woman lying in the brush, which had broken her fall. A worn-looking backpack and purse lay nearby.

Creeping forward, she crouched down beside the redhead, looking more closely at her. Her eyes were closed, and she had some ugly scrapes and bruises from her fall, but she did not otherwise appear to be injured. Her breathing was strong and steady as her rescuer checked her for broken bones and other injuries.

Satisfied that there were no injuries beyond the scrapes and bruises, and possibly a concussion, the dark-haired woman gripped her under the arms and dragged her from the brush. Even though the redhead was thin, she was still too heavy to lift easily.

She lifted her as high as she could, grateful that she was considerably taller than the redhead, and allowing only her feet to drag on the ground, hauled her in the direction of her camp, set up amongst the boulders under a sprawling oak tree. Pulling her into the tent and laying her on the sleeping bag, she commented, "You'd better not die on me after all that trouble."

The redhead did not respond. Sighing, her rescuer hurried back to the scene of the accident to collect the backpack and purse. She hoped very much that the woman would be all right. Her mother had taught her everything she knew about medicine, and she was an herbalist, but she wasn't a doctor. If something was seriously wrong, she would have to go for help, leaving her charge defenseless and alone.

XXXXX

Rose opened her eyes slowly, groaning as she rubbed her head. She had a splitting headache, and the rest of her body felt like she'd been beaten. Examining her head, she found a lump on the side of it, but nothing more. Sitting up slowly, she looked around in confusion.

_Where am I?_ The last thing she remembered was falling down the cliff, and then nothing else. But she wasn't lying in the rocks and brush; she was in a tent on someone's sleeping bag, she observed. Someone had picked her up, but who? Where was she?

Abruptly, one of Rose's questions was answered as her rescuer stuck her head in the tent, smiling to see Rose sitting up.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up," she commented, kneeling down next to Rose.

"What happened? Where am I? How long have I been here?"

"You fell down the cliff when the aftershock struck. The trail is completely gone now. I guess you were trying to cross it. As to where you are, you're in my camp, near the town of Cuyamaca. You've been here about two hours."

"Okay." Rose tried to take all this in. "Who brought me here?"

"I did. I would have brought you to the road, but it's a long walk, and I didn't think I could haul you that far, at least not without hurting you more. You don't appear to be gravely injured."

"Tell that to my head." Rose touched the lump on her head again, probing it with her fingers and wincing.

"It might not hurt so much if you'd leave it alone." She put out her hand. "By the way, I'm Daffodil Kirkpatrick."

Rose shook her hand, not sure she had heard right. "Daffodil?"

"That's right, Daffodil. My mother named me that, after her favorite flower. It's unique." Daffodil sounded a bit defensive.

"Does anyone ever call you Daffy?"

"Not if they know what's good for them."

Rose winced. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. I guess you saved my life, anyway." She shrugged. "I'm named after a flower, too. I'm Rose DeWitt-Bukater."

"Your name's more common than Daffodil, anyway." She bowed as best she could in the confines of the tent. "Daffodil Kirkpatrick, latter-day hippie—my brother says wanna-be—and unrepentant vagabond, at your service."

Rose couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you."

"No problem. You've been out here a while."

"I thought you said I'd only been here a couple of hours."

"Out there." Daffodil waved a hand at the mountains surrounding them.

"What makes you think that?"

"You mean besides the worn bags and clothes, and the fact that you're tanned and too thin?" Daffodil shrugged. "You talked a lot while you were asleep."

"I...talked a lot? What did I say?"

"Let's see...your mother is greedy, your ex-fiancé abused you, your new boyfriend, named Jack, died on the night of the earthquake—"

"Did I say how he died?" Rose looked at her in alarm.

"No. You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?"

"No." Rose lay back, her heart pounding. If she had mentioned Cal's part in Jack's death, their deal would be void. Cal might go to prison, and Rose would be back where she started from. "He died in the earthquake."

"Okay." Daffodil raised an eyebrow, not quite believing her, but didn't press the issue. From the way Rose had cried when she mentioned him, she doubted that she'd been an accomplice to her boyfriend's death. Shrugging it off—Rose would tell her if she wanted to, and if not, she wouldn't—she went on, "You left Masline after the earthquake, and don't want to go back to your old life. You looted a broken Big Lots to get your supplies—"

"Those things would have wound up in the garbage anyway," Rose defended.

Daffodil put her hands up in defense. "Far be it for me to criticize you for taking trash. If it's been thrown away, it's public property—within reason, anyway. Of course, identity theft is wrong, but other than that—one man's trash is another man's treasure."

"It wasn't thrown away yet," Rose admitted, "but it would have been. I just helped clean up a little and keep the landfills emptier."

"Like I said, I'm not criticizing. I've gone through the trash a time or two myself." She paused, then went on. "You left Masline, and headed for the mountains. You're a long way from there now, so you've traveled a fair distance. Masline must be a good seventy-five miles from here."

Rose hadn't realized she had come so far. "I guess I have been out here a while."

"Well, you'll be here a while longer, until you feel better. I don't want you walking away and passing out from a concussion. You've got a nasty lump on your head."

"I felt it." Rose was about to lie back down, tired from her long travels and her injuries, when she smelled something cooking. Her stomach immediately reminded her that she hadn't eaten much in days, and she sat up straighter, trying to see around Daffodil and out of the tent.

"Are you hungry?" Daffodil asked her, seeing Rose's widening eyes and the way she moved her head to try to see out of the tent.

"Starving. Do you have any food to spare? I'll pay you back..."

"Don't worry about money. I gathered some wild greens and added them to the dried stuff I'm using to make soup. There's some herb tea, too, and some apples."

Rose's mouth watered at her words, even though she had never tried wild greens and wasn't sure she wanted to. "You're sure you don't want any payment?"

"I'm sure. I made enough for two. Anyway, sharing food with someone else is an ancient form of human interaction. I want to make the world a better place, you see."

"Yeah." Rose smiled at the idea and tried to crawl out of the tent, stopping and holding her head as the world spun dizzily.

"Just what I need," she mumbled to herself. "Another head injury." At Daffodil's inquiring look, she explained, "I hit my head on the dining room table about six weeks ago and got a concussion. At this rate, my brain's going to turn to mush."

"It's not mush yet," Daffodil assured her, helping her out of the tent. "I'd let you eat in here, but if anything gets spilled, it might attract bears or other unwanted creatures."

"Bears have their place in the world, you know."

"Yes, but not in my tent. Come on."

Rose felt a little better once she was out in the open air and sitting on a low, lichen-encrusted boulder. She looked up at the canopy of branches overhead, hearing the sound of a running stream not far away.

"Nice camping spot," she commented. "Is the water clean?"

"It is now. I boiled it."

"It was dirty water? You made soup with water full of dirt?"

"Of course not. The water is clear. Bacteria and things can live anywhere, though."

"They can?" Rose's eyes widened. She'd been drinking water straight from clear streams.

"Don't tell me you didn't learn that in biology—that's the problem with all this teaching to the test. You don't learn anything useful. You didn't bother to boil wildland water before drinking it, did you? I bet you didn't filter it or add iodine or water purification tablets, either. You're lucky you didn't get sick."

Rose shook her head, a little sheepishly. That probably accounted for the episodes of upset stomach she had endured. She had blamed it on the food from Big Lots, but maybe the water was to blame.

Daffodil shook her head. "You're what used to be called a greenhorn, and is now known as a weekend warrior. You're out here, but you don't know what you're doing. You're lucky you didn't make yourself sick, or become a meal for a bear or mountain lion."

"I'm sure I came close enough," Rose admitted, "especially this afternoon."

"True enough. If I hadn't found you, some predator probably would have. Not many people come through this way right now, especially with the trail out."

Rose sighed. "I know. I just...I had to get away."

Daffodil gave her an understanding look. "I know the feeling. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Yes!" Rose couldn't contain her eagerness. Daffodil laughed, dishing up a portion of the soup, along with an apple and a plastic cup of herb tea.

The sun was growing low in the sky as the two women ate, Rose devouring her food in record time and eating everything left in the cooking pot. After also eating several packets of saltines, she was finally full.

Daffodil just stared at her, shaking her head. "You really haven't been eating much, have you?"

Rose shook her head. "I didn't have much, and didn't want to go into a town to buy more."

Daffodil gestured around her. "There's food here, if you know where to look."

Rose looked at her skeptically. "You mean like wild greens?" In truth, the greens in the soup had tasted good, though she wasn't sure how much of that was because she was hungry and how much was because they were actually good.

"And lots of other stuff. How do you think the Indians survived here?"

"I never really thought about it."

Daffodil sighed. "Stick with me and I'll teach you how to stay alive. Because if you keep wandering around like this, you're going to need some survival skills. Come to think of it, you might need those skills anyway. Every bit of information is useful."

Rose nodded, still skeptical, but seeing the wisdom of Daffodil's words. "Well, I can try to learn, as soon as I am able—if you can put up with me that long."

The dark-haired woman grinned. "I can tolerate a lot. We'll start as soon as you can stand up straight."


	6. The Wayfaring Stranger 5

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Five**

_Sunday, June 5, 2003_

"How are you feeling this morning?" Daffodil asked, as Rose crawled out of the tent, dragging her blanket with her and shaking it out.

"Better. Much better," Rose replied, neatly folding the blanket and setting it back down inside the tent. The past two days of rest had done her good, even with the concussion and the long time spent wandering alone. Her head no longer spun when she stood up, and the scrapes and bruises from her fall were already beginning to heal. She felt better than she had since she had started out on her solitary journey.

Daffodil's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you ready to begin that survival training I promised you?"

Rose shrugged, not sure that there was that much that Daffodil could teach her, or that she would really need to know, for that matter. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. You'll be out here in the fresh air and sunshine, learning things that you can actually use."

"Unlike college," Rose murmured, acknowledging that most of what she had learned in college would never be very useful to her—especially since she had disliked so much of it that she had quickly forgotten what she had studied. Some things were useful, but much of it had been strictly academic, necessary for teaching or other scholarly careers, but not so useful to one who preferred things to be hands-on, as Rose often did.

"Oh, college has its uses," Daffodil responded, shrugging, "as long as one enjoys what they study enough to remember it. I went to college after I graduated from high school and got a Bachelor's degree in biology. Then I decided I'd had enough, and set out on my own."

Rose looked at her in surprise. She had never thought that Daffodil, with her unconventional way of living, had ever tried anything so ordinary as college. Daffodil, seeing her expression, grinned.

"Don't judge a person before you know them, Rose," she chided. "There's more depth to most people than the casual eye can observe."

"I know." Rose sighed. It was a lesson she'd learned the hard way with Cal. Had she looked past the surface appearance to begin with, and resisted more strongly her mother's urging that she date him, she could have avoided a lot of pain and misery. It was a lesson well-learned, but there were still things she didn't quite understand.

"You still look a bit tired," Daffodil told her, "so we'll start with something you can learn here in camp, and move on from there."

XXXXX

Daffodil proved herself a good teacher, and Rose a willing student. Over the next few weeks, as the Southern California spring turned into summer, Rose learned to find and build shelter in almost any conditions, to find and purify water, and to find food in the wildlands. Some of it was familiar, much of it was not. There were times when Rose wondered how she could have missed such obvious things as wild strawberries, blackberries, and sunflowers, but she had not been taught to notice them before, and so had overlooked them. Other things that Daffodil taught her were even more unfamiliar, making her wonder how she had survived on her own in the wilderness for so many weeks. It was more than just finding food, though that was plentiful in this year of good rain and extravagant wildflower displays. There were dangers that Rose had overlooked, too.

Daffodil taught her how to identify the tracks of different animals, including the ones that might be dangerous to humans. Rose realized that she had seen some of them in her travels, some of them quite fresh, but she had never realized what they were. She had been in more danger than she knew. Water, too, could be hazardous if not cleaned properly—something that had never occurred to Rose; she had been lucky to have nothing more than a few bouts of upset stomach from it, unused as she was to water that hadn't been purified by a water company or bottler.

She learned about other hazards and survival skills, too. Rose could swim, but she would be no match for a flash flood, rare though they were in this part of the mountains. She had learned the hard way about rock slides and trails that were too narrow to negotiate safely, and she had already known not to stand out in the open in a lightning storm, but she hadn't realized that standing under a lone tree could be just as dangerous in such a storm. She had known to avoid rattlesnakes, but hadn't known that they were the only poisonous snakes in California. She had known not to touch thorny plants like cactus, but hadn't known how to identify poison oak, which, after Daffodil had identified it for her, she realized had been the cause of a badly itching hand and arm she had suffered from after brushing against it.

Rose learned a great deal from Daffodil, but she drew the line at Daffodil's suggestion that worms and insects were good sources of protein if one didn't happen to eat a stinger. She had watched Daffodil demonstrate how to eat a worm, but had insisted that she wasn't hungry enough to try one herself, and had laughed uproariously when Daffodil had made a disgusted face and spat the worm out into the bushes…good source of protein or not, the slimy, wiggling thing wasn't very appetizing.

Mari had tried to show her similar things at times, at least with plants, but Rose had never seen any real value in listening, and she hadn't exactly trusted Mari's judgment, especially after her roommate had come near to poisoning herself when she had confused a toxic plant, Jimsonweed, for an edible one and made tea out of it.

Rose trusted Daffodil's judgment. She had experience in all sorts of conditions, having visited cities, countryside, and wilderness areas all over the United States, Canada, and Mexico, thanks to her free-thinking, free-spirited parents, who loved to travel and hadn't considered their daughter's education complete until she had traveled widely, too, meeting different people and cultures and learning the things that most people overlooked. Her education was wide and varied, not just school education but life experience as well. And Daffodil's constant drilling and lessons, to be sure that Rose could survive on her own, kept her mind off of other, less pleasant thoughts.

By the time July arrived, Rose was well-versed in survival skills and lore, her time alone making her eager to learn. And though she could have set off on her own again, she chose not to, finding that she had healed enough inside that total solitude no longer appealed to her, and she was glad for Daffodil's company in the camp under the oaks and pines.


	7. The Wayfaring Stranger 6

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Six**

_July 1, 2003_

Rose sat on a rock beside the small fire, watching the sky lighten overhead as she slowly stirred what had become their typical morning meal—a mix of oatmeal and early ripening edible seeds, flavored with a little sugar and whatever wild berries could be found this early in the season. This morning, the mixture contained some still-good acorns that Rose had found, ground, and leached with boiling water, along with crushed green manzanita berries and the first wild strawberries, which were ripening early this year.

Daffodil and Rose had taken to splitting and sharing the camp chores, their agreement to do so unspoken since Rose had chosen to stay with Daffodil, rather than going off on her own again. Daffodil, while accustomed to solitude when in the wilderness, welcomed Rose, who had proven to be an unjudgmental, eager learner with a sense of humor and the ability to laugh at herself, even if she did carry a melancholy, faraway look at times for unexplained reasons. Rose, for her part, needed a friend, someone who wouldn't push her beyond what she felt capable of doing. While she had wanted to be alone when she had first left Masline, she had healed inside to some extent, and valued Daffodil's close, if unusual, friendship. The two young women had quickly become close confidantes, although each had secrets that they would share with no one.

Rose looked up as Daffodil ducked under a branch on the trail back up from the spring, several full canteens of water in her arms. As Rose removed the cereal from the fire, Daffodil took her place, pouring the contents of one of the canteens into a pan and setting it to boil in the hot coals. Rose spooned the cereal into two bowls, along with some reconstituted dry milk, and set them on a flat rock often used as a table.

Setting the other canteens aside, Daffodil sat beside Rose, taking one of the bowls and a spoon and digging into her breakfast. Unwrapping a small, leafy bundle, she handed Rose two of the cattail roots she had dug up and washed, leaving the other two for herself. The ate in amiable silence for a few minutes before Daffodil spoke up.

"I think it's time to move," she told Rose. "It's not good to stay in one camp indefinitely. We'll use up the resources and not leave enough for the wildlife if we stay much longer, and the latrine area is getting a bit...ripe."

Rose nodded in agreement. Food was becoming more scarce in the immediate area, and the brushy place, although far from water and their camp, that they had chosen to use as a bathroom could be smelled from quite some distance. She hated to leave the peaceful camp in the woods, but humans couldn't live in one wild spot indefinitely any more than most animals could. It was time to move.

"Where should we go?" she asked, biting into one of the crisp, potato-flavored cattail roots, a delicacy she had never tasted before setting off into the wilderness.

Daffodil shrugged. "I prefer to stay on the fringes of civilization in the summer, but sometimes it's good to be around more people, so it's up to you. We can find another camp in the mountains, or go to the town near here. You decide—although if we make another mountain camp, we'll need to go into town long enough to get more food supplies. I don't have much money, but I can probably find some quick jobs taking care of people's yards or washing their cars. Sometimes, if there's a lot of tourists around, or some kind of festival, I try to sing and dance for money—though I never seem to make much." She looked at Rose. "How are you at singing and dancing?"

Rose thought for a moment. "I'm a pretty good singer, I think—I've sung in front of the people in my church, and I had a part in a musical in high school. As to dancing—I can do it, but I usually make it up as I go along."

Daffodil nodded. "So do I. I don't have much formal training—and can you imagine doing ballet on the street?"

"I'm sure it could be done."

"Yes, but it isn't as much fun as making up your own dance." She paused. "What kind of songs do you know?"

"Mostly popular songs and songs from musicals, plus some songs from when I was a little kid."

"I know a lot of those, too, plus a lot of oldies and folk songs, both in English and in other languages."

"You remind me of my former roommate, Mari Lopez. She loved folk music. Pete Seeger was her favorite."

Daffodil nodded enthusiastically. "His music is the best, along with that group he was in, the Weavers. And then there's Joan Baez, and Peter, Paul, and Mary, and lots of small-time singers that hardly anyone ever heard of. Those small-time singers are the ones who keep the art alive, although there's also country music, which has a lot of similarities, and folk-pop. Music of the people, not just of a few elite. There's even a folk song about surfing the Internet."

"There is?" Rose had always thought of folk music as something that consisted of old ballads and some protest songs.

"It's not well-known, possibly because it's really boring."

Rose laughed. "That would explain it."

"You probably know some folk songs yourself. A lot of children's songs are old folk songs, and so are many hymns. Some popular songs are also taken from folk songs, and there's a lot of folk-country songs. Folk songs are what I usually sing in towns or cities. A lot of them don't have any copyright, or the copyright has expired, so there's no problem with people saying you're stealing from them. And I know some people who are in a band. They aren't famous or anything, but they sound good anyway."

Rose was fascinated. "You've done so many interesting things. You remind me of...someone I used to know." She didn't want to talk about Jack.

Daffodil looked at her, recognizing the sad, far away look in Rose's eyes. Knowing that Rose wouldn't tell her what she was thinking, she changed the subject.

"I think we should leave before we make a mess of this place. If it's all right with you, I'd like to pack up and leave today."

Rose was a little startled at the sudden decision, but nodded. "We can go. I'm not sure yet whether I would rather go into town for a while or find another wilderness camp, but since we need more food anyway, we can decide after we get to town."

"I don't have the money for a motel room or anything like that," Daffodil cautioned. "I know you said you have money, but it's amazing how quickly it goes. At this time of year, in this area, it's better to camp out, even if we do stay in town. We could camp outside of town and come in to work, if no one offers us a place to sleep or there's no place in town where we can camp out. You never know."

Rose was uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in the home of strangers, but was beginning to trust the judgment of both Daffodil and herself. Whatever happened, happened, and she would take things as they came. If things didn't feel right, they could always go elsewhere.

XXXXX

They broke camp quickly, washing the dishes in some of the clean water Daffodil had brought from the spring and boiled, then packing up everything and loading it into their backpacks. Rose still kept a number of items in her purse, while Daffodil had a fanny pack that she wore in front, since there was no space in back with her large pack.

By nine o'clock, they were ready to set out. After kicking dirt on the fire and stomping on it to be sure there were no live coals that could start a brush fire, they looked around the camp once more, making sure that nothing had been left behind. Each had a canteen and a water bottle tied at their hips through with pieces of cord strung through their belt loops, and straw hats pulled low over their faces to protect them from the sunlight on the trail, which they ordinarily would have avoided at the brightest time of day.

Rose was sorry to leave the camp—the spreading, cooling oaks, towering pines, lichen-encrusted boulders, and small spring had been peaceful—but she knew that Daffodil was right. If they stayed any longer, they might spoil the beauty of the place, both for themselves and for anyone who might come after them. Although the trail on the cliff above had been destroyed by the earthquake and subsequent aftershocks, there were other ways of getting to the canyon floor, and someone else might get there one day. They had taken away all of their trash that they hadn't been able to reuse or burn, as well as any trash that they had found while on foraging expeditions. It was best to leave a place in as good a condition as possible.

Daffodil turned back to Rose as they started along the overgrown animal trail that eventually led to the highway. "Keep an eye out for aluminum cans, bottles, and things like that," she told Rose, "especially after we get to the highway. There's a recycling center in town that will pay us for things like that. We can do the environment a good turn and get some money for food and such while we're at it."

Each of the women already had a plastic garbage bag secured to their packs, but still easily opened to add whatever they found. They already had quite a collection of recyclable materials that they had found, but they were always willing to pick up more.

The walk to the highway, about two and a half miles, took an hour and a half. The heavy packs slowed their steps, and they had no set timetable for getting into town, so they stopped wherever it seemed pleasant, admiring a beautiful view, resting in the shade of a large aspen, or picking and eating ripe berries when they grew beside the trail. Once, they stopped to watch a doe and her fawn grazing by the trailside until the animals noticed their presence and melted into the brush.

They knew that they were nearing there highway long before they ever saw it. Even at a distance, the sounds of vehicles moving along the road could be heard easily, and a few people were present once they reached the highway and turned toward the town, about three miles away.

Other hikers greeted them in a friendly manner, although some looked askance at their well-worn clothes and wrinkled their noses at the scent of wood smoke that permeated both women. Others didn't notice. Few people dressed in their best for hiking, and the scent of smoke was understandable if they'd been camping.

They made their way slowly into town, picking up recyclable trash along the way and seeing more and more people as they approached. With the Independence Day holiday fast approaching, there were more people than usual in town, and the number of vehicles, as well as the raised prices on such commodities as gasoline, reflected this.

"Looks like we got here at a good time," Daffodil remarked. "The holiday is just a few days away, so there are plenty of tourists that we can offer to wash cars or carry bags for, and maybe we can do some performing of patriotic songs on the holiday itself. I'm assuming you know some of those songs?"

"Several," Rose replied. "My dad liked to sing those songs. I think I got my voice from him."

Daffodil nodded. "Good. We have a plan, then. Now, let's see. The first thing to do is to go by the recycling center and drop all of this stuff off. Then we'll go to the market and get some food and car washing supplies, and then look for work."

"It's hard to believe there's a recycling center in a town like this," Rose commented, as they approached the building, set away from the rest of the town by about a block and surrounded by trees.

"They don't actually do any recycling here," Daffodil explained. "They just collect stuff and ship it out. They get paid for that, and we get paid for bringing it. See how small the building is? They don't have space to do the actual processing."

After they had dropped off their trash bags and been paid for their collections, they headed to the plaza in town, where the market was located. Comparing prices carefully, they purchased non-perishable foods that they could take with them, as well as some other necessary supplies for themselves and the things they would need to wash cars.

Rose stopped at an ATM machine, withdrawing forty dollars when it looked as though they would need more money to cover the cost of the food. But before she could spend her money, Daffodil tugged on her arm.

"Let's see if we can get a discount."

Rose gave her a shocked look. "Isn't that stealing?"

"Not if you get permission. See here? This package was ripped open. The food is still good, but it's unsalable. We might be able to convince the manager to sell it to us for a lower price, rather than just throwing it away. That way, it won't be a total loss. And if they won't, we wait until they put things in the dumpster, and then take whatever is still good. Taking trash isn't stealing, you know. And see this slightly wilted lettuce?" She gestured to a cart of things bound for the trash. "No one wants to buy them, but stores don't like to lose money on things if they don't have to. And offering them a third of the price for things they're just going to throw out sometimes works, especially in independent establishments like this one."

Rose wasn't so sure, but when Daffodil assured her that if all else failed, they would pay the full price, she agreed. After all, it was up to the manager, and if they were told yes, it wouldn't be stealing. Packing the things they had already purchased into their packs, they returned to the store, filling two shopping baskets with opened containers of beef sticks, snack foods, raisins, and bags of chips, wilted or bruised produce, dented cans, and a couple of thawing microwavable meals. Looking around, Daffodil located the manager's office.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she said, looking inside the open door.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"We were shopping, and we found quite a few packages that had been ripped open, and also some wilted and bruised produce and thawing frozen food that someone left where it didn't belong."

The managed sighed, mumbling something about disrespectful tourists, and nodded. "Thank you. I'll have someone clean those things up and throw them away."

"Actually," Rose cut in, "we already did that. But instead of just throwing them away, so that you'd lose all the money you spent on them, we were wondering if we could buy them at the wholesale price? That way, you wouldn't lose any money, and you wouldn't have to bother with cleaning up. We already collected it, so if you don't want us to buy it, we'll just leave it with you and you can easily put it in the trash."

The manager looked surprised at the offer, but noting the shabby state of the two women's clothing, she guessed that they didn't have much money. "Let me see what you have."

They handed over their baskets. "We didn't open any of the packages ourselves," Daffodil added. "We found them this way."

She nodded, believing them, and after looking through their baskets, she nodded again and made up a purchase note. "The bags that are almost full I'm charging you the wholesale price for. The others are half-price, and the produce is one-third the price. The frozen meals are free, since they are too far gone to be refrozen. Take this note to the cash register, and the clerk will charge you what I've written."

Daffodil thanked her, taking the note and heading for the cash register. They needed a little of Rose's money to pay for the food, but it was far less than they would have paid otherwise, and there was still cash left in case they needed it.

"You see, Rose?" Daffodil told her as they walked away. "It wasn't dishonest at all. We got what we needed, and the store got a fair price and little less work for the employees to do."

Rose nodded, realizing that Daffodil was right. They had met their needs—and she had learned how to bargain, and that there was a fine line between honesty and dishonesty.

XXXXX

Rose and Daffodil carried their packs to the edge of town and into the thick chaparral, fighting their way through in an effort to find a safe place to leave their belongings. They couldn't carry their packs with them while searching for work, and leaving them somewhere in town wasn't safe—they might get stolen. They also couldn't leave their things near any of the trailheads, for the same reason. Few people would venture into the thick brush and chaparral, though, making it a considerably safer hiding place.

About half a mile from the road, they found a small clearing amongst the manzanita, chamise, and chokecherry, where a small fire had gutted the brush a year or so before. Setting their packs down, they stretched out the kinks in their muscles and looked around.

"This would make a good camp," Rose observed, looking around the clearing. The fire that had made the clearing had been caused by lightning and doused a short time later by rain. No people had been in the area in quite some time.

"It would," Daffodil agreed. "We should come back here before sunset, which gives us about five hours to work. Let's put those frozen dinners on ice for later—"

"What ice?" Rose didn't remember buying any ice.

"I picked up a freezer bag full of ice cubes from a trash-covered bench on our way out of town. It's been in the middle of my pack, so it's still frozen." She dug it out and showed it to Rose.

Rose remembered seeing the ice and several containers of food sitting beside it—not all of them empty. "Daffodil, I think someone was coming back for that."

Daffodil shrugged. "It was starting to melt anyway."

"That's not the point. It wasn't yours to take."

"They can get more ice. We can't. And we have perishable foods that need to be kept cool." She gave Rose an annoyed look. "You can eat rotten food if you want. I'm putting my frozen dinner on ice, along with these vegetables."

Rose sighed. It wouldn't do any good to bring the ice back. The people who had owned it were undoubtedly gone by now, and they might not have needed it anymore. Using stolen ice to keep her food cool wouldn't cause any harm, anyway. Certainly, she'd done worse things—she'd broken a man out of jail and made a deal with a murderer to keep her silence in exchange for her freedom. Using partially melted ice that someone else had stolen was the least of her transgressions.

"All right. Put my dinner in there, too. But next time, please make sure no one is using something before you take it. It's not good to steal from people."

"I know. I know. But it was only ice. There was no food with it, or anything else. It just looked like trash to me."

"And you tell me I should be more observant!"

Daffodil gave her a wry look. "Well, if we find anyone who's mad because their ice disappeared, we'll offer them a free car wash. Okay?"

"Okay." Rose sighed. "Let's just hope they didn't really need it. Who knows—maybe it was bound for the trash can. But it's best to be sure."

"I know. I'll be more careful. Now, shall we get ready to look for work?"

"Aren't we already prepared for that?"

"Not quite. I hate to say it, but we look—and smell—like what we are—a couple of vagabonds. A lot of people won't hire vagabonds, even to do odd jobs like yard work or car washing. They assume we're trying to get money to buy alcohol or drugs, or that we'll steal something. On purpose," she added, seeing Rose raise an eyebrow. "What we do is wash up a bit—we have enough water for that, and we can get more in town—change into our less worn, cleaner clothes, tie back our hair, and pretend to be local kids looking to earn some spending money doing odd jobs. There aren't many jobs for teenagers in a town like this, so it makes perfect sense. And so many people commute out of here to go to work, they aren't here very much and don't know that we aren't really local kids. Then we hire ourselves out to wash cars, do yard work, carry bags, whatever needs to be done. Since we're camping out, we don't need that much money, so this kind of work should be enough to meet our needs. It doesn't matter if what we wear to do this is a little worn out—after all, we're doing dirty work, so we don't want to wear our best. We can provide a service for people for less money than the professionals, and still do a good job. Everyone benefits."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Rose asked. "Time's wasting. It's already mid-afternoon, and we have to walk back to town to look for work. Let's get going!"

Daffodil laughed, tucking the ice and the food into a crevice in a rock and reaching into her backpack for her clean clothes.


	8. The Wayfaring Stranger 7

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Seven**

_July 5, 2003_

Rose stretched lazily, opening her eyes and squinting at the bright sunlight penetrating her nest of blankets under a manzanita bush. Sitting up, she looked across the small clearing, seeing that Daffodil was already up and dressed, eating a slice of watermelon and reading a book she had found in a pile of trash. Rose shook her head, still marveling at the casual way Daffodil lived on the edge of civilization.

Noticing the movement in the bushes, Daffodil looked up from her book. "About time you woke up," she remarked. "I thought you were going to sleep all day."

"What time is it anyway?" Rose asked, crawling out of her bedroll and standing up, picking a few leaves from her hair.

"Mid-morning or thereabouts. I'm surprised you could stay in that bedroll in this heat."

"It isn't so bad in the shade. Anyway, I was tired. It must have been past midnight when we left town. I've gotten used to going to bed earlier."

"We did well, though. The tourists loved us--at least, they loved you." Daffodil scowled slightly. "Actually, I think the locals did, too, even if we did have to change streets a couple of times."

"I never thought we needed a permit to sing and dance."

"We don't. The problem was, we were blocking the sidewalk the first time, and we were on private property the second time. But it still worked out. People were actually upset when we were asked to leave, and some of them followed us to our new locations. Anyway, we found that empty lot in the middle of town, so people could see us."

"I always thought that passing the hat was just an expression, but your hat got pretty full by the end of the night. It almost makes me wish that I had my hat, too."

"People loved watching you. You have a real talent--what my theater arts professor referred to as energy. There's just something about you that makes people want to watch. Of course, it helps that you can sing. You're much better at the national anthem than I am--I can't hit the high notes."

"I noticed. You squeak, and your voice cracks..."

Daffodil gave her an annoyed look. "Why do you think I stopped singing it after a while and just let you sing? You have a great range, while I, on the other hand, can carry a tune, but not much else."

After hearing Daffodil attempt to sing, Rose didn't think she could even carry a tune. "We made more after you stopped singing."

Daffodil shrugged, looking unconvinced. "I think I did okay. That one guy gave me five dollars when we left his property."

"A small price to pay for a little peace and quiet."

Daffodil turned to glare at Rose. "You're sure bitchy this morning."

"I'm just being honest. I mean, didn't you notice when that German shepherd tried to howl along with you?"

"Just because that lady couldn't control her dog..." Daffodil shook her head, then gave Rose a smug look. "_Oh, say can you see_--"

A flock of birds took flight from the nearby bushes, squawking. Rose winced. "Daffodil. Please. Don't. Sing."

Daffodil just glared at Rose. "Like I was saying, it was fine for the performing we were doing, but I don't think I could ever be a professional singer. You could, if you wanted."

Rose wisely decided to stop arguing over Daffodil's singing ability, or lack thereof. "I don't know. Maybe."

Daffodil shrugged. "It's nothing to worry about. Just take things as they come."

"I've learned to do that lately."

"Oh, by the way, I counted the money and divided it between us. I got a penny more than you did, but I figure I'm entitled to it, since it was my hat that we passed around. We each got about forty dollars and some change."

Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's a lot of money for what we were doing. It's almost as much as we've made in the past few days--and it's a lot easier to sing and dance than to wash cars and do yard work."

Daffodil raised an eyebrow. "I guess you don't suffer much from stage fright. It's taken me years to get past the stage fright enough to perform, but the fun of performing is such that I made myself keep doing it. You never get anywhere by quitting."

Rose clamped her mouth shut to keep herself from saying that quitting singing might be in Daffodil's best interest. Instead, she finally answered, "I know. Of course, quitting is sometimes the best thing you can do if you don't like the direction you're going in..." She couldn't resist adding, "...or if something isn't working for you."

"Yeah, that's true, but I've always hated quitting at anything. It's a matter of pride to finish whatever I start."

"It's no wonder you've done so many things. You don't give up."

"No, I don't. Not until I think I've finished--or I get chased away." She smirked at Rose, taking another bite of her watermelon. "Want some?"

Rose looked at the watermelon suspiciously. "Where did you get it?"

Daffodil shrugged. "A tourist gave it to me, saying that she really enjoyed your performance, but didn't have any cash on hand. I checked it before I tried eating it. It's fully ripe, and it hasn't been contaminated. She gave it to us whole. If you like, after the fruit is gone, I can show you how to cook the diced rind with vinegar, salt, and some cayenne. It makes good pickles that way if you cut it small enough so it doesn't take weeks to soak up the flavors. You can use sugar, too, but I've never liked sweet pickles."

"Uh...okay." Rose had never considered watermelon rind to be food, but thinking about it, she did recall seeing watermelon rind pickles at the fair when she was little. She noticed that Daffodil was also picking out the seeds and saving them. "Why are you doing that? Are you planning to plant a garden?"

"Where? Here? No, the seeds are edible, too. You toast them until they're really crisp, and then you can eat them. Actually, you can eat them raw, too, but they taste better toasted."

"Okay." Rose raised an eyebrow at her.

"Really. Lots of people eat them that way in China, and it doesn't do them any harm."

"Well, I suppose I'll have some, at least some of the fruit. I'm hungry. All that singing and dancing really worked up my appetite."

"It does that. Nothing like strenuous activity in the fresh air to make you hungry." Daffodil cut off a slice of watermelon and passed it to Rose. "Be sure to save the seeds and rind. Even if you don't want them, I do."

"Sure." Rose took the fruit and the wad of money that Daffodil passed to her. Tucking the money into a pocket of her backpack, she began to eat.

"What do you want to do now?" Daffodil asked, finishing the last of her slice of watermelon and dumping the seeds into a tin pan. She set it on a rock before she began to chop the rind into little pieces.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we've made close to two hundred dollars in the past few days--enough to last a while if we're careful, look for bargains, and camp out. Do you want to stay here, or go someplace else?"

"Where would we go?"

Daffodil shrugged. "Anywhere. We could stay in town for a while longer, see if we could get some more work, or we could head someplace else, see what else is out there. We can't stay here forever. Someone will figure out that we're vagabonds and complain. Besides, I think we've seen everything there is to see here. I'd like to go somewhere else, try something new."

"How would we get anywhere else?"

"Just like we got here. We walk, or we hitchhike."

"Isn't that dangerous, especially for women?"

"It can be, but I've done it before. I've been in a few sticky situations, but I've never really gotten into trouble. The trick is to be careful who you get a ride with. If your gut instinct tells you they're dangerous, just wave them on. If they persist, go the other way, or get away from the road, somewhere that they can't pursue you. I've found that riding with truckers and families is the safest, but you never know who you're going to meet, or what's going to happen. Most people won't hurt you, and we'll be safer traveling together than alone. Two women are harder to overcome than one, and most people who would hurt you don't want unfriendly witnesses. We're strong; we can take care of ourselves."

It could be dangerous, and Rose knew it, but her sense of adventure was roused by Daffodil's words. She remembered that Jack had told her that he had sometimes hitchhiked from place to place. If he could do it, why not her? It would be an adventure.

"Where should we try to go?"

"Anywhere. We'll just go wherever the spirit moves us."

"Anywhere except Masline. I'm not going back there."

Daffodil looked at Rose understandingly. "Not now, anyway."

"Not ever, if I have any say in the matter."

"Never is a long time, as my dad says. But we'll stay away from Masline, at least for now. Of course, the best way to make sure we don't wind up there is to head in the opposite direction--east."

"Into the desert? In the summer? Are you crazy?"

"Probably." Daffodil shrugged. "If we have to walk, we'll do it from late evening to early morning, and then find someplace to stay out of the sun. We'll think of something."

"What about water? I doubt we'll find much of it in the desert."

"You'd be surprised what you can find if you look. But we can stock up on water in the towns. If we stay in the western desert, there are plenty of towns, and it isn't quite as hot as farther east. And if we don't like it there, we can go north. The Sierras are only a few hundred miles away."

"Great." Rose handed her seeds and rind to Daffodil. "I'll bite, though. Let's do it."

"Desert summer, here we come. But let's wait until tomorrow. I want to relax for a while, and maybe go into town later to get food and water. We'll leave early tomorrow."


	9. The Wayfaring Stranger 8

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Eight

_July 13, 2003_

"You were right—I am crazy."

"What?" Rose stopped, turning to look at Daffodil in confusion.

"I am crazy—crazy to go into the desert in the summer. And you're crazy, too, for agreeing with me."

Rose turned back to the moonlit trail, stumbling over a rock before she caught herself. "Like you said, the best way to avoid going west is to go east. And here we are—in the desert. Not that it's always the most pleasant place to be, at this time of year."

"No place in California is really pleasant to be at this time of year, except for the mountains and beaches."

"Well, we could have gone there, but no, you insisted upon heading east to avoid Masline. Masline is a small town—we could have gone around it."

"Maybe. But you agreed to my hare-brained idea."

Rose stopped again, looking offended for a moment. Then she laughed.

"Maybe we are crazy. Maybe we shouldn't have come here. But we're here now, and we haven't had any real mishaps yet. We may be crazy, but we're not stupid."

A big rig rumbled by on the freeway about one hundred yards away, followed quickly by the sound of several cars moving swiftly along the night-shrouded road. A screen of brush shielded them from the road, allowing them to walk safely without being noticed. The moon, high overhead, cast its dim light upon them, allowing just enough visibility to travel.

After leaving their camp in the mountain chaparral, they had taken to the highway through the mountains, soon hitching a ride with an elderly couple on the way to their desert home in Borrego Springs. They had taken the young women as far as the market in the small desert town and dropped them off, trusting them enough to give them a ride, but not enough to show them where they lived.

It had been mid-afternoon, so Rose and Daffodil had slowly made the rounds of the businesses in the shopping center, trying to stay cool. When the sun had begun to sink low in the sky, they had resumed their trek on foot, sweating in the still-warm desert air. They had tried to hitch another ride, but when that proved unsuccessful, they had gotten water at a gas station and headed out of town near sunset, finding an abandoned, brush-enshrouded building to stay in. After resting through the next day, they had set out on foot along the wandering desert trails at night, careful to stay near enough to the road to find towns where they could get water.

That had been a week ago. Although they still tried to hitchhike in the early evening and early morning, they had been unsuccessful, so their night treks continued. During the heat of the daylight hours, they sought shelter in any place they could find—abandoned buildings, rock overhangs, and even a campground heavily shaded by tamarisks the second day out.

The third day out, Rose had awakened in mid-afternoon to find herself face-to-face with a rattlesnake who had sought shelter under the same rock overhang as the two women. Daffodil had awakened earlier and walked down to the palm-shaded springs to search for fresh food and hadn't noticed Rose's plight. She had been climbing slowly back up the hill when Rose had let loose with a scream that set the roosting birds nearby flying.

Daffodil had been so startled, she had nearly tumbled back down the hill. The snake, unable to hear Rose's voice, had stared at her for a moment, and then, deciding that the cowering woman was neither threat nor prey, had slithered away.

Dropping her bag of dates and cattail roots, Daffodil had raced up the hill, wondering what could be wrong. She had found Rose perched on top of the rock overhang, mumbling almost hysterically about rattlesnakes in her bed.

Daffodil had been very concerned at first, worried that Rose had been bitten, but when Rose calmed down and assured her that she was fine, she had burst into uproarious laughter, amused at Rose's reaction to an animal that couldn't hear her.

Rose had not been amused, and had said as much, but the incident had taught her an important lesson. After that, she always checked carefully for snakes or other creatures before settling down to rest.

Nevertheless, in spite of the heat, dryness, and hazards of the desert, Rose was enjoying the adventure. Daffodil had had her fill of desert travel in the summer, but she had long known the freedom that Rose was only beginning to experience. For Rose, everything was new and amazing, each day a new adventure to be savored.

Traveling through the desert, with no one to tell her what to do or where to go, Rose felt gloriously alive, something she hadn't felt in far too long.


	10. The Wayfaring Stranger 9

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Nine

_July 20, 2003  
Palm Springs, California_

"Thanks for the ride." Daffodil waved to the trucker who had dropped them off on a side street in Palm Springs. The two young women hurried away from the truck and down another street, giving no evidence of where they had gotten their latest ride.

For the past week, they had slowly been making their way north, sometimes walking, at other times hitching short rides with families and truckers. Rose had learned first-hand the dangers of hitchhiking when a man who was a little too friendly had tried to pick them up. Daffodil had waved him away, but he hadn't been put off. Pulling over to the side of the road and reversing direction, he had followed them, persisting until he had nearly hit another car. Rose and Daffodil had finally slipped through a broken place in the barbed wire fence and set off across an open field dotted with creosote bush to avoid him.

This incident, however, had not soured them on hitchhiking. Rose had been ready to give up on begging rides from people, but Daffodil was of the opinion that most people were harmless, and it was easier to hitchhike than to walk in the desert heat. She had spent a lot of time hitchhiking around the country in the past, and a few dangerous people weren't going to stop her.

Rose wasn't sure that hitchhiking was a good idea, but she stubbornly pushed away her reservations and followed Daffodil's lead, even when her mind told her that she was walking a fine line, and trouble was just a moment's bad judgment away.

The trucker they had hitched a ride with had picked them up near the Salton Sea, driving them up to Palm Springs before dropping them off. Daffodil was familiar with the area and knew where they were, but Rose looked around, wondering what town they had wound up in this time. Not that it mattered; they had no particular place to be, so any place was good enough, but she still liked to know where she was.

"Where are we?" she asked Daffodil, as they emerged from the side street into the business district.

"Palm Springs," Daffodil replied, surprised that Rose wasn't more familiar with the area. Palm Springs was still a popular tourist attraction.

"Really?" Rose had only been there a few times, on the way to visit her grandmother, so she wasn't as familiar with the area.

"Yep—Palm Springs—Touristville." Daffodil looked around, her eyes focusing on something, then abruptly grinned and made a rude gesture at it.

"What was that for?"

"The business people here are so paranoid about crime that they have cameras watching our every move. Very Orwellian. Big Brother is watching you, and all that."

"We haven't committed any crimes."

"No, but we're scruffy enough to be suspect. I'll bet that if anyone is watching, they're wanting to get rid of us right now. Well, up theirs!" She made another rude gesture.

"Daffodil..." Rose hissed. "I don't think you're helping matters."

Daffodil just shrugged and started down the street, making childish faces at every camera she saw. Rose laughed, in spite of her uneasiness.

"You're like a little kid with those cameras."

"I'm getting in touch with my inner child."

"My mother always said that if you make faces like that, your face will freeze that way."

"So did mine. It hasn't happened yet." She made another face, sticking out her tongue.

"Daffodil..." Rose couldn't resist. Daffodil was having too much fun. Quickly, trying to be discreet, she raised her middle finger at a traffic camera, then looked around sheepishly as people stopped to stare at her.

Daffodil noticed. "Now who's not helping matters?" she asked, putting on a prim, innocent expression, as though she had never done a rude thing in her life.

Rose giggled, a high-pitched, carefree sound she hadn't made in a long time, laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation.

"Let's get out of here, before we get into trouble."

* * *

That night, Rose and Daffodil camped out in a deserted alley, sheltered by recently emptied dumpsters on either side. They'd wrinkled their noses at the smell, but quickly forgot about it as they settled down for the night, eating packaged food that was still edible but beyond the selling point that they had fished out of a trash can behind a supermarket.

"I don't see why people are so against eating this kind of food," Rose commented, opening a dented can of green beans. "It's perfectly good."

"Some stores actually sell this stuff," Daffodil pointed out. "Sometimes the only problem is that it doesn't sell very well, and they want to open the shelves for better-selling items. Grocery outlets, places like Big Lots—they get this stuff."

"Unless it's thrown away."

"Well, that's their loss." She opened a bag of day-old bread. "If it's in the trash, it's public property."

"Sometimes I wonder how I got into this," Rose commented. "A few months ago, I would have rejected this as being not good enough. Now, it's perfectly good. A few dents in the cans don't hurt anything, and day-old bread tastes no different from fresh bread."

"I got some opened packages, too," Daffodil remarked, opening her backpack. "Let's see...corn nuts, chips, cookies, candy bars, raisins, cereal...they must have been doing inventory or something."

"I got some oranges with dried-out rinds," Rose added, "and some open packages, too. And I found some bruised apples and potatoes, and two partly squashed cardboard cans of mixed nuts. Plus all these dented cans. We got some good stuff, but it sure is heavy to carry."

"Let's eat the heaviest stuff first, and the stuff that'll go bad the fastest, like this bread."

"And use the stuff we had to pay for sparingly." Rose nodded. They'd collected aluminum cans around town again and turned them in for money, then bought some items that weren't likely to wind up in the trash in an edible condition.

"Except for this fried chicken and potatoes." Daffodil opened the bags. "I know they cost a lot, but we can indulge ourselves once in a while."

They ate in amiable silence for a while, wiping their greasy fingers on discarded newspapers. Finally, Daffodil looked up at Rose.

"So, where do you want to go next? I don't think we should stay in Palm Springs too long. This place spells trouble for drifters like us."

Rose thought about it, taking the question seriously for a change. Usually, it didn't matter where they went—anywhere would do—but this time she knew there was a choice to be made. Just a few miles down the freeway was Palm Desert, where her maternal grandmother and step-grandfather lived. If she went there, she knew that she would be welcomed, with relief no doubt, since she was presumed dead—unless her use of the ATM in Cuyamaca had tipped them off that she was alive, or at least that someone was using her ATM card—but they would be honor-bound to inform her mother of Rose's whereabouts, whether Rose wanted her to know or not. Even after two and a half months, Rose didn't feel ready to see Ruth again. Not after that last night.

She was hesitant to tell Daffodil about her nearby relatives. Daffodil believed strongly in freedom and self-determination, but she was also insatiably curious, always wanting to know more about people. Undoubtedly, she would be more than happy to visit Rose's family, and would keep pestering her about seeing them until she gave in. If she knew that Rose's grandmother was a psychologist, and her step-grandfather a substance abuse counselor, she would be even more interested. Those subjects fascinated her.

Of course, they didn't have to go to Palm Desert. The California desert was vast, with towns scattered throughout it. They could as easily head north or south, or they could head west and leave the desert behind.

Rose leaned against the wall, considering. The desert was an interesting place, of that there was no doubt, but it was also extremely hot and dry in the summer. Going there had seemed like a good idea at first, but now that she had experienced the extreme heat, she was ready for cooler temperatures. The desert, however, was not likely to start cooling down for a good two months yet—longer than Rose wanted to wait. If they went west, it would be cooler and greener, if only a little.

"Let's head back west," she suggested, polishing off the last of her chicken. "I'm tired of this desert heat."

"It'll still be pretty warm," Daffodil pointed out.

"Yes, but not as hot as here. Besides, maybe we could go to the mountains, or go all the way west to the ocean. That would be nice."

"I thought you didn't want to go west, because you wanted avoid Masline."

"We're pretty far north of Masline now. I don't think I have to worry."

"Well, I guess we can head west tomorrow. Tonight, I need some rest. We've been traveling a long time."

"Yeah, we smell like it, too."

Daffodil laughed. "I know of an area near here where they water three times a day—including before sunrise. We could go run through the sprinklers."

"And be soaking wet."

"It's hot enough. We'll dry out quickly. But we should turn in for the night if we're going to get up that early."

"Sure." Rose gathered up the remains of their dinners and threw them into one of the dumpsters. Spreading out some newspapers for a mattress, she spread out her blankets and lay down, pulling one of the blankets up to partially cover herself. It was too hot for any other covering.

Daffodil spoke up just as Rose was drifting off. "Oh, when it comes to going west, we can do it, but there's some places to avoid. According to a newspaper headline I saw, the towns of Hemet and Menifee are still disaster areas, following the collapse of the Diamond Valley Lake dam in the earthquake. We'll have to avoid them."

"No problem." Rose yawned, settling back on the crackling newspapers. They _had_ been traveling a long time, and she was tired. Relaxing, she closed her eyes.

She felt a little guilty about her decision to go west, instead of letting her relatives in Palm Desert know she was alive, but she just wasn't ready to face her old life yet. She'd let them know she was alive eventually, but not yet. Not until she was fully healed inside from the traumatic events that had driven her to leave home in the first place.


	11. The Wayfaring Stranger 10

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Ten

_July 22, 2003  
Truck Stop  
California Desert_

Rose sighed as she shrugged off her backpack and sat down on a bench in the shade of a wall at the truck stop midway between Palm Springs and Banning. They had been traveling on foot for two days, heading west along the freeway. The weather had cooled slightly, so that the high temperature during the day was only a hundred and five degrees, but it was still hard traveling, and they hadn't succeeded in finding another ride.

She was beginning to experience serious misgivings about the wisdom of traveling west. Not only was southwestern California more densely populated than the desert, making it more difficult to find a safe place to rest, but the farther west they traveled, the more signs of the recent earthquake they found—something Rose found hard to think about. She still shuddered at the memories of that terrible night, and grew increasingly uncomfortable as more and more evidence of the cataclysm appeared.

Although they were still in the desert, which had not been so badly damaged by the earthquake as the southwestern part of the state, they had still seen signs of the natural disaster only a few months earlier. There had been some flattened buildings in outlying areas, although these ancient, rickety wooden structures would likely have collapsed on their own within a few years anyway. There had also been some damage to the freeway, and when they had passed by the energy-generating windmills in the pass, only a few were operating, and some had fallen over and had not been repaired. If damage had been this severe in the desert, so far from the epicenter of the earthquake, she could only imagine what it was like farther west.

Before she had left Masline, Rose had read the reports about the earthquake, about the severe damage that stretched for miles in every direction. There hadn't been any reports on Banning, but she knew that if they continued in the direction they were traveling, they would eventually wind up in the Hemet-San Jacinto area, which had been inundated when the Diamond Valley Lake dam collapsed. To the west of that was Perris, which had also been badly damaged by a collapsing dam.

In spite of the considerable number of people killed or displaced by the earthquake, in spite of the massive amount of damage done by the cataclysm, not nearly enough had been done to repair the damage and assist the survivors. The country was embroiled in a war that had now lasted some four months and showed no signs of ending soon, in spite of the president's assertion of 'mission accomplished' two months earlier. Rose didn't see the point of the war—she had been following the news as much as she could since it had started in March, reading headlines and discarded newspapers whenever she was in a town following the day she had walked away from Masline—but it was evident to her that President Bush's desire for revenge on the Iraqi dictator and hunger for Iraqi oil was more important than the suffering of people following such a horrendous natural disaster.

Rose had other reasons for her misgivings about heading west. Even if more of the damage had been cleaned up in the disaster areas, there was always the danger that she would meet someone she knew. Mari lived in Perris, and Rose knew that her mother occasionally went places like Temecula and Murrieta on business and to shop. The likelihood of running across either of them was slim, but Rose didn't want to take any chances. If her mother found out that she was alive, she would never let the matter rest, and Mari might pass the word on to others at Elias University—and thereby make its way to her mother or Cal at their business places in Southland.

Beyond that, Rose knew that the earthquake had brought on an even bigger disaster in the west—the destruction of the San Onofre nuclear power plant near Oceanside, spreading radiation over a good portion of the land and ocean. The mountains had helped to block it from spreading east, but some of the coastal towns, even those not destroyed by the ensuing tidal wave, were uninhabitable, and she wasn't sure that it was safe to stay in the western area. Radiation could last for a long time, especially if it wound up concentrating in a small area.

Rose was pulled from her thoughts as Daffodil sat down beside her, handing her a bottle of cool water filled at a bathroom sink. She took a drink gratefully, preferring the cool, fresh water to the stale, lukewarm water they had been drinking for two days.

"Do you want to stay here for a few hours, or keep moving?" Daffodil asked her, taking a drink from her own bottle.

"Stay here. We can get fresh water and clean up a little in the bathroom. Maybe, if we're lucky, we can hitch another ride. It may be a few degrees cooler, but it's still awfully hot. At least there's a little shelter here."

Daffodil nodded, leaning back against the bench and pulling out a half-crushed can of mixed, salted nuts. Taking a few, she offered the can to Rose, who shook her head, not hungry at the moment.

"How about this—if we can hitch a ride, we'll leave with the driver. If not, we'll leave at sunset and walk through the night, or at least until we get tired. Then we'll find some place to rest—a campground if we're lucky, or if not, we'll think of something."

"Yeah. We always do." Rose settled back and closed her eyes for a moment, then sat up, reminding herself that a truck stop was not a safe place to nap. In addition to truckers and travelers looking for a rest stop, truck stops also attracted assorted unsavory people, some of whom would think nothing of attacking them or stealing their few belongings. It was best to stay alert.

Daffodil put the can of nuts back into her pack and leaned forward, perusing the wide parking area for someone who they might be able to hitch a ride with. She observed several families, their vehicles packed with luggage and children—probably safe, but not likely to give them a ride, even if they had space. An SUV with several people in their late teens or early twenties pulled into the parking area, swerving wildly, but she also rejected this prospect, as they appeared to be drunk or high, and at risk for an accident or arrest. The best prospects, she decided, were the truckers, who might give them a ride for free or for a low fee, or occasionally just for the company, although they had to be careful there, too—some men believed that company was synonymous with sex, and she wasn't desperate enough pay for rides that way, nor, most emphatically, was Rose.

She nudged Rose, who got reluctantly to her feet, and they set off across the parking lot to try to beg a ride. The first two truckers they approached told them that it was against company policy for them to take riders, a third refused them flat out, and a fourth was willing but looked at them in a way that made Rose shake her head and walk away without a word. They were ready to give up and wait for someone new to arrive when the driver of the last truck in the parking lot came out, heading in the direction of her vehicle.

Daffodil immediately walked up to her. "Can you take a couple of riders?" she asked, looking at the woman. There were far fewer female truckers than male, but she didn't care about the gender of the driver, as long as they could drive safely and didn't intend to harm hitchhikers. Her instincts told her that this trucker was safe.

"Maybe. I'm headed for Reno," she answered, looking at the two grubby, slightly disreputable-looking women.

"Reno is good," Rose said, before Daffodil could say anything. She elbowed her in the ribs as she started to speak.

"It'll be fifteen dollars for the two of you," she told them, "and if you cause any trouble I'll put you out on the road. No refund."

"We'll pay it," Rose told her, reaching into her purse.

The woman stopped her. "Pay me when you get in the truck. I'm leaving in about fifteen minutes. If anyone I know shows up, the deal is off. Okay?"

"Sure," Rose agreed, again elbowing Daffodil in the ribs as she began to speak.

"Be ready. If you're not there when I'm ready to go, I'm leaving you behind."

"We'll be there in about ten minutes. We'd like to clean up a little first."

"Fine. Be back here by 12:30." She climbed into the cab to get her lunch.

Daffodil stalked after Rose, following her into the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "I thought you wanted to go west."

Rose locked herself into one of the stalls. "I changed my mind. I'd rather go to Reno."

"When did you decide this?"

"When she said she was going to Reno."

Daffodil was silent for a moment, then said, "It's a hell of a lot hotter in Reno than it is here."

"It's also a major city. We should be able to find something to do there. It's farther north, too, so maybe we can head for the Sierras when we're done there."

"Just in time for winter. Great idea. Maybe we should head for Donner Pass, too."

"Shut up." Rose came out and began to wash up. "I just don't think that going west is a really good idea. You've seen how much earthquake damage there is out here. Think of what it will be like farther west. Besides, we don't have to be anywhere in particular, so Reno is as good as Banning. And if we go west from there, it'll be farther north, and farther from the earthquake damage."

"You and earthquakes. You must have had a really traumatic experience when the Masline quake hit."

"I did, but I'd just as soon not talk about it."

"I know. Your boyfriend and all." Daffodil sighed. "Okay. We'll go to Reno, but it had better be worth it."

"That's up to you as much as me. Life is what you make of it, you know."

"That's what I told you."

"See? I learned from the best." Rose dried her face and tossed the paper towel in the trash. "Come on. We'd better get going before she leaves without us."


	12. The Wayfaring Stranger 11

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Eleven

The big rig pulled away from the truck stop, Rose and Daffodil inside. Both were hunched down so that no one would see them and know that the driver was taking riders, but once they reached the freeway, they sat up. Few people would pay attention to who was in the cab on the open road.

Daffodil glowered at Rose at first as the truck took them back in the direction they had come, covering the distance it had taken them two days to travel in only an hour. She, even more than Rose, had grown tired of traveling in the desert in the summer, and had been looking forward to the slightly cooler climate to the west. Now, for some reason she couldn't fathom, Rose wanted to go to Reno, Nevada, farther east than they could have traveled on foot.

Rose just looked out the window, ignoring Daffodil and offering no explanation for her sudden change of heart, other than wanting to avoid seeing the extensive earthquake damage to the west. She couldn't really define for herself why she wanted to leave California. It hadn't even occurred to her to do so until the driver had said she was going to Reno, but once Rose had heard her destination, she knew that she wanted to go there, too.

The driver glanced at the two women sitting in sullen silence, pointedly ignoring each other. Whatever problem they had, she didn't want to get involved, but she also didn't want to make the trip with two silent, angry people. She knew from experience that such a situation could rapidly be blown out of proportion by the boredom of a long trip on the endless, open road, a small disagreement taking on great importance because there was nothing else to occupy the minds of those disagreeing.

"Why are you heading to Reno?" she asked, looking quickly at them.

Daffodil shrugged. "Don't ask me. It was her idea."

"I felt like it," Rose retorted. "Anyway, Reno is as good a place as any."

"You just can't face your past."

"I can face anything I want."

"Ha! You're a coward, Rose. Don't deny it."

"I am not a coward! A coward could never do what I've done. You just think you're so high and mighty because you've been doing whatever you want all this time and I'm just learning to live for myself. You're a leech on society."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Just what are you trying to say, exactly?"

"I'm saying—"

"That's enough!" Both women jumped as the driver raised her voice. "Remember what I said about causing trouble? We're about to enter Palm Desert. You can either stop this right now, or I'll drop you off there."

"No!" Rose had no intention of stopping in Palm Desert.

"Then I suggest you stop sniping at each other and find something else to occupy yourselves."

Rose and Daffodil glared at each other, then looked away, turning their attention to the vast desert landscape. Rose stared out her window, sighing in relief when they had passed Palm Desert.

As they approached Indio, the driver broke the silence. "By the way, I'm Henrietta Moore. Most people call me Henrie."

Rose looked away from the window. "What? Oh…I'm Rose." She nudged Daffodil, reminding her of her manners.

Daffodil looked at her in irritation for a moment, then mumbled, "Daffodil."

"What?" Henrie looked her at her, not sure she had heard right.

"My name is Daffodil. What of it?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to know your name."

"It's no weirder than Henrie." Daffodil stared ahead, her gaze fixed on the road. Half of her irritation with Rose, and Henrie, and the world in general, stemmed from being overtired. She and Rose had traveled a long way in the past two days, without much rest in their eagerness to get out of the desert, and she didn't like seeing all their hard work being swept away.

She turned to glare at Rose, blaming her for their current state, only to see that the long days of travel had caught up to her, too. Lulled by the warmth of the sun, the motion of the truck, and hypnotizing sight of the road spreading out before them endlessly, Rose had fallen asleep, slumped against the seat, her mouth slightly open.

Daffodil glared at her, irritated that Rose would fall asleep and leave herself at the mercy of someone she didn't know. It was never a good idea for a hitchhiker to fall asleep. God only knew where they might end up.

She glanced at Henrie, who looked relieved that the arguing had stopped, and then leaned back against the seat. _At least I have enough sense not to fall asleep,_ she thought. _I don't care how tired I am. I'm not going to put myself in danger like she is. Rose has no sense at all. I'm not going to fall asleep. I'm not…_

* * *

"Are you two hungry, or are you just going to sleep all night?"

Rose opened her eyes slowly, aware of a weight leaning against her, and saw Henrie looking at her with the door open. They were at another truck stop, this one with a small diner.

Trying to sit up, she saw what the weight was—Daffodil was sound asleep, slumped comfortably against her. Rose shook her.

"Daffodil, wake up."

"Hmm." Daffodil went right on sleeping.

"Daffodil, wake up! I want to get up!"

Daffodil opened one eye and looked her, then closed it again. A moment later, she bolted upright.

"I was not sleeping!" she announced loudly, earning guffaws from both Rose and Henrie. "I wasn't!" she insisted.

"Whatever you say," Rose told her, trying not to laugh. She opened the door and got out. Daffodil fell over on the seat.

"Dammit, Rose…"

"Are you two coming or not?"

"We're coming," Daffodil grumbled, sitting up. "We're coming."

The two women followed Henrie into the diner, then immediately turned to leave again when they saw the prices—not horribly high, but more than they could easily afford.

"Sit down," Henrie told them, as Rose and Daffodil started to slide out of the booth. "I'll buy you dinner. Just get yourselves some hamburgers or something."

"Oh, we couldn't—" Rose started, but Henrie interrupted her.

"Here's a bit of advice for you. Life can be tough on the road, especially if you're a drifter. Your money and your supplies never stretch as far as you think they will. Never pass up a free meal."

Rose opened her mouth to object, but Daffodil kicked her under the table. Rose could eat travel food if she wanted, but Daffodil hadn't had a hot meal in quite a while, and wasn't about to pass up this generous offer.

Rose gave her a dirty look, then sighed. "Okay. Thank you."

When the food arrived, both Rose and Daffodil dug into it as though afraid that it would disappear, both hungrier than they cared to admit. When the waitress dropped the check on the table, Daffodil offered to pay part of it, encouraged by Rose kicking her under the table, but Henrie refused.

"That's why I charged you for the ride," she told them. "To offset the cost of feeding you."

"Oh. Okay." Relieved, Rose followed Daffodil into the restroom.

"God spare us from ethical people," Daffodil remarked as they were washing up.

"What?"

"You. You're much too ethical. Offering to pay for a free meal."

"She wouldn't let us."

"Still…ethics and survival don't always go together."

"They aren't exactly separate, either," Rose responded. "What is your problem today? You're usually a lot nicer than this."

"Nothing. Just call it PMS."

"Bullshit. That's not the problem, and you know it."

"And when did you get so wise?"

"It's called intuition."

"It's called—"

"Let's just drop it, okay? We've got a long ways to go, and I don't want to fight with you all the way there. Besides, I don't think Henrie will tolerate it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They headed back outside, getting back into the cab as Henrie was getting ready to leave.

"I was beginning to think you'd decided to stay here. Duck down until we get back on the road. It's still light out."

Complying, Rose and Daffodil ducked out of sight, Daffodil at the window this time. When they were on the road again, they sat up, watching it grow darker ahead of them as they headed east.

Wide awake now, and bored, Daffodil hummed under her breath, still too annoyed with Rose to talk to her, and not wanting to disturb Henrie by making idle conversation.

Rose heard her. "I know that song!" she exclaimed, listening to Daffodil hum softly. She sang a few lines.

_On the road again  
I just can't wait to get  
On the road again…_

"That's appropriate," Henrie remarked, listening to her sing.

Rose sang a few more lines, then stopped. "That's all I remember," she confessed.

"How about this one?" Daffodil asked, forgetting her irritation in favor of the prospect of a good sing-along.

_I saw Adam leave the garden  
With an apple in his hand  
I said now you're out  
What are you gonna do?  
Plant my crops and pray for rain  
Maybe raise a little Cain  
I'm an orphan now  
I'm only passing through._

Rose and Henrie winced at the sound of Daffodil's voice, but she was unperturbed.

"Remember? We sang it on the Fourth of July in Cuyamaca."

Rose nodded, remembering. She joined in, trying to sing loud enough to drown Daffodil out.

_Passing through, passing through  
Sometimes happy, sometimes blue  
Glad that I ran into you  
Tell the people that you saw me  
Passing through._

They continued singing, going through several songs, Rose sometimes stumbling over the words. When they paused for a drink of water, Henrie, relieved at the silence, interjected her thoughts.

"Are you a street performer, or struggling musician? You're pretty good." She directed the comment at Rose, trying to find a diplomatic way to avoid commenting on Daffodil's lack of singing ability.

"Well, we try," Rose told her, not willing to leave Daffodil out, even though she wished that her friend wouldn't try to sing. "We kind of do whatever comes along—within reason, of course."

"That's good to hear, but I mean what I say. You're good. You might be able to go somewhere with your voice."

"Rose could, maybe," Daffodil interjected. "I have a limited vocal range."

Rose stared at her, surprised that Daffodil was finally admitting to her inability to sing, though she felt that Daffodil's problem was more than just limited vocal range.

"I know a man in LA who might just be able to help her. I'll give you two his number before I drop you off. Just tell him Henrie sent you."

"Well, we'll keep that in mind…if we ever go to LA," Daffodil told her. "I can't say for sure where we'll head after this. Wherever the wind takes us, I guess."

Rose glanced at her, startled. It sounded remarkably like something Jack had once said to her, that he was 'just a tumbleweed blowing in the wind'. Pushing the thought away, she began another song, this one more popular.

_Every night in my dreams  
I see you, I feel you  
That is how I know you go on  
Far across the distance  
And space between us  
You have come to show you go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are  
I believe that the heart does go on  
Once more, you opened the door  
And you're here in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on._

She wiped her eyes, grateful for the darkness that hid the sudden rush of tears. Daffodil joined in, distracting her from her melancholy thoughts.

_Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime  
And never let go till we're gone  
Love was when I loved you  
One true time I hold to  
In my life you'll always go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are  
I believe that the heart does go on  
Once more you opened the door  
And you're here in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on._

_You're here, there's nothing I fear,  
And I know that my heart will go on.  
We'll stay forever this way,  
You are safe in my heart,  
And my heart will go on and on._

"That's such a beautiful song." Daffodil sighed. "You may not be Celine Dion, but it's still a beautiful song."

Rose nodded, not trusting herself to speak. For some reason, the song had brought on a flood of memories of Jack and the time they had spent together. She leaned back against the seat, finally trusting her voice enough to agree.

"Yes, it is." She sighed, not wanting to say more.

_Jack, can you see what I'm doing now, what my life is like? I'm making each day count, just like you did, and I'm not giving up. I may have let Cal get away with murdering you, but it was the only way to set myself free. I love you, and I miss you, but I am going on with life—and enjoying it, too. We should have enjoyed life together, but it wasn't meant to be, and I'm making the most of this journey of one that my life has become, and I always will._

_Just like I promised._


	13. The Wayfaring Stranger 12

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twelve

_July 23, 2003  
Reno, Nevada_

Henrie pulled in behind a supermarket, letting Rose and Daffodil out before she pulled all the way forward.

"Thanks for the ride!" Rose called, waving.

"Yeah," Daffodil agreed, a little less enthusiastically.

They slipped around the corner before anyone could see that they'd hitched a ride in the big rig. Slinging their packs on their backs and walking casually, the traveled several blocks before stopping to get their bearings.

"Oh, wow!" Rose turned to stare at something, her eyes widening.

"What?" Daffodil turned, too.

"That arch. I never expected to see something like that here."

"It's a famous tourist attraction. Don't tell me you've never heard of _The Biggest Little City in the World_."

Rose shook her head, moving forward to see it better. "I've never been here before."

"You've never been to Reno?"

"No. I went with my parents to Las Vegas once when I was little, but I've never been to Reno before."

"Then why did you want to come here?"

"Because it was there." Rose started down the street. "What should be we do now?"

"I don't know. It was your idea!"

"What is your problem?" Rose turned to stare at Daffodil. "You've been a bitch ever since I asked for a ride here."

"Nothing. I don't have a problem."

"Yeah, right. If you didn't want to go to Reno, you should have said so. I, of all people, can understand not wanting to go somewhere, whatever the reason is. Why don't you like Reno?"

"I never said I didn't."

"You didn't have to. You've been bitching the whole way here, and you were trying to talk me out of this before we hitched that ride. You even told me it was much hotter here than in the California desert, but it isn't."

"I was wrong. So, sue me."

"Maybe I should. Maybe it would get you off your high horse."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You've been impossible to get along with since we left that truck stop."

"Look, Rose. I have my reasons for not liking Reno. You have your secrets; I have mine. Now lay off!"

"Bite me!"

"Up yours!"

A crowd was beginning to gather, attracted by the disturbance. Daffodil noticed a police officer approaching and turned quickly, grabbing Rose's arm.

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

* * *

When they were away from the crowd, Daffodil stopped, turning to glare at Rose. "You got us here. Now, what do you want to do?"

Rose opened her mouth to make a rude retort, then thought better of it. "I think that the first thing we need to do is find a way to earn some money. You've been here before. What do you suggest?"

Daffodil took a deep breath. "Since I have no intention of staying here long enough to collect a paycheck, and we have no address anyway, I suggest we find some kind of casual work."

"Is there a recycling center around here?"

Daffodil rolled her eyes. "Duh."

Rose's temper flared, but she held it in check. "Then I suggest we search for recyclable trash to turn in for money. While we're at it, we can see if there's anyplace in this town where I can sing for our supper."

"It's Reno. People come here to be entertained."

Rose glared at her. "By the big acts. I'm not a big act. I don't have anyplace to perform."

"You really swallowed what Henrie told you, didn't you? About being a singer?"

"I didn't swallow anything. I am a good entertainer, and it's not like I'm a star-struck young girl thinking that all I have to do is be here and I'll make it big. I just want a place to sleep and food. Singing is an enjoyable way of getting those things, if I can do it. If you don't want to help me search for a place to entertain people, I'll try it on my own."

"No way am I letting you wander around here by yourself. You're too naïve."

"I am not!"

"You fell asleep in the truck."

"So did you!"

"I wasn't sleeping. I was just resting my eyes. I was perfectly alert." Daffodil stiffened with affront.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you with me or not?"

"I'm with you. I'm with you."

* * *

Rose and Daffodil spent most of the day wandering through Reno, filling plastic trash bags with aluminum cans and other recyclables. Unseen, they poked through trash cans and dumpsters, picking up anything that looked recyclable. In the view of other people, they were more circumspect, collecting only what had been dropped on the streets as litter.

By late afternoon, their bags were full, two large trash bags each. After turning in their collections to a local recycling center and receiving their money, they walked down to the Truckee River in Wingfield Park, where Rose had observed a large number of tourists and few competing forms of entertainment.

Choosing a spot that was near to a walkway, but not in people's way, Rose slipped into a restroom and donned her performing clothes—the dress and shoes that she had brought with her from Masline. Daffodil changed into a brightly colored peasant-style outfit that she kept rolled up at the bottom of her pack, and odds and ends of scarves and jewelry that she had made, found, or been given. A little makeup completed their looks, and soon they were standing by the wayside. Rose was singing and Daffodil, who Rose had to admit had a good sense of comic timing if not a good singing voice, was telling jokes. They soon attracted a crowd of people, many of whom assumed they were part of a tourist attraction.

Rose was embarrassed when Daffodil pulled off the hat she had left hanging down her back and shouted, "Hey, everyone! Give us a hand here! Our landlord needs your help!" She held the hat out, making a wisecrack about what certain politicians might do in Reno, and encouraged people to give them money.

People laughed at her antics, but some did contribute. Two men tried to interrupt their performance, trying to lure them away with promises of bigger money for a different type of service, but were put off by Rose, Daffodil, and the crowd. They walked away in fury, people laughing at them.

They continued to perform for a couple of hours, until Rose's voice began to give out and Daffodil began to run out of jokes. After passing the hat one more time, they changed out of their performance clothes, divided the money, and left, walking into town to buy groceries and then wandering along the river for a distance.

Not far from downtown Reno, Rose stopped and stared in puzzlement at the river. Dozens of rings sparkled on the river bottom, seeming out of place in the quiet setting.

"Hey, Daffodil." She nudged her, pointing to the rings. "What do you make of that?"

Daffodil looked at what she was pointing to. "That? It's been a tradition here for a long time for divorced couples to throw their wedding rings into the water."

"How interesting." Rose raised an eyebrow at Daffodil. "Is that why you don't like it here?"

Daffodil looked affronted. "I've never been married. I've never met a man good enough to tie me down."

"I think people come here to get untied."

"If you don't get tied down in the first place, you never have to get untied. It would take a really special man to get me to settle down."

"Me, too." Rose nodded, looking at the rings sparkling in the early evening light, a thought occurring to her. If people came here to throw away their symbols of broken marriages, would it be any more odd for her to throw away a symbol of an engagement that had been a mistake? The gaudy diamond ring still lay at the bottom of her purse, unknown to anyone but her. It would probably be wiser to sell it, but she couldn't help but think that the idea of tossing it into the river was a good one, a way of finally letting go of her old life.

She turned away as Daffodil started back along the bank, heading away from the city. She would think about it later, when there was more time. For now, they needed to find a place to sleep, preferably one where there would be no cost and no one would drive them away.

* * *

Late that night, as Daffodil slept across the tiny campfire from her, Rose still lay awake, thinking about the place in the river where people tossed their rings.

She glanced at her purse, where it lay almost hidden beneath her backpack. The ring was inside, hidden by the other things she had packed on top of it. The knowledge that the ring was there, and what it symbolized to her, lay heavy on her mind.

Crawling out of her bedroll, Rose opened her purse, looking around to make sure no one could see. Pawing through the bag, she pulled out the ring and stared at it in the dim light of the banked campfire.

She remembered the night Cal had given her the ring, proposing to her on the same night that she had graduated from high school. She hadn't been ready for marriage to anyone, let alone Cal, but after her mother had informed her of the consequences of refusing the proposal, she hadn't felt that she had a choice. She had accepted, knowing even as she did that she was making a mistake.

Things had gone downhill from there. Cal had grown progressively more controlling, and when he began to hit her, she had seriously considered ending the engagement, in spite of her mother's threats. But fear had held her back, and it wasn't until a cold November night, when she had attempted to jump from the landing at the university library, that things had begun to change. That night, she had met Jack Dawson.

He had talked her out of jumping, and had pulled her back over when one of her high-heeled shoes caught in a crack in the concrete. She had gone to his college to return his schedule and talk to him the next day, and it had been the beginning of one of the deepest friendships she had ever known, one that had eventually progressed to love.

Jack had been there for her throughout those difficult months, even when she pushed him away, and had made her realize that she had options other than marriage to Cal. On the afternoon before the earthquake had struck, Rose had at last understood that she could never go through with the marriage to Cal, and had sought Jack out. When they had returned to his home that evening, she had removed the ring and told Jack that when the quarter ended, she was moving in with him.

Hours later, as they had eaten dinner at a local fast food restaurant, Cal had found them, and had been enraged by Rose's decision to end their engagement. He had slipped the ring into Jack's pocket, then framed him for its theft. After the earthquake had struck, Rose had realized what Cal had done and had run from him and her mother, freeing Jack from the city jail just before flames overtook it.

It had been when they were leaving the area most damaged by the fire and earthquake that the horrifying events that would never leave her had occurred. They had met Cal on the street, looking for Rose, and when they had walked away, Cal had pulled out a gun and fired at them. He had missed Rose—but Jack hadn't been so lucky. They had taken shelter between two half-collapsed buildings, but by the time they had felt it was safe to venture out, Jack was so weak from the exertion and blood loss that he couldn't move quickly enough, and an aftershock had trapped them in the rubble. Jack had told her to wait until morning, when the rescue crews would arrive, but by morning it had been too late for him. He had already bled to death from the gunshot wound.

Rose had struggled free, promising Jack that she would never let go, and had managed to escape from the rubble. A few days later, she had confronted Cal for the last time, promising to keep her silence in exchange for his. Not long after, she had left the emergency shelter, returning to the place she had been in when the earthquake had struck, and had retrieved her few belongings, including the ring. She had planned to keep it as a reminder, but it was a reminder she didn't think she needed any longer. She would never forget what had happened, or why she had left her old life behind.

Closing her fist around the ring, Rose looked around her, then got slowly to her feet and started down the riverbank toward the place where she had seen the discarded wedding rings earlier. This was something she had to do, and she had to do it alone.

* * *

It was dark beside the river, but enough light spilled from the nearby city and from the moon and stars above for Rose to find her way. When she saw the faint glimmer of light reflecting off the rings, she stopped, looking down at the water.

It was time for her to put aside her past, to keep only those things that would benefit her. With every step that she had taken, she had felt a little lighter, as though tossing the ring into the river was a purifying ritual.

Standing before the water, she looked down for several minutes before bringing the ring from her pocket. She looked at it in the faint light, watching the diamond sparkle, then took a deep breath and tossed it far out into the water.

The ring tumbled over and over as it fell, finally hitting the water with a faint splash and disappearing from view, sinking into the depths of the river.

Rose stood there a few moments longer, feeling a sense of peace that she hadn't felt in a long time. Then, with a faint, secretive smile, she turned and walked away, back towards her new life.


	14. The Wayfaring Stranger 13

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirteen

_July 24, 2003_

The next day, Rose and Daffodil wandered around Reno, looking for whatever interesting opportunities might come their way. They had made enough money that they weren't looking specifically for a way to make more, though they weren't averse to taking an interesting job if one came their way.

It was in mid-afternoon when Daffodil came up with an idea. They were sitting on the curb, drinking cans of soda and watching the tourists, when Daffodil's eyes lit on a discount store across the street. Finishing her drink, she crushed the can and added it to her trash bag, then stood up.

"I'll be back in a moment," she told Rose, putting on her fanny pack and checking it to be sure she had some money in it.

"Where are you going?"

"Just over there." She pointed to the store she had been eyeing. "I won't be long."

"Don't steal anything," Rose told her sourly.

"I don't steal!" Daffodil frowned at her. "Get a life."

"Whatever." Rose was tired of bickering with her.

Daffodil flounced off across the street, returning a few minutes later with a plastic shopping bag. "I didn't steal anything," she told Rose snidely. "Look, I even have the receipt."

"Great. What did you buy?"

Daffodil pulled her purchase out of the bag. "A deck of cards."

"That'll keep us occupied. What kind of games do you know?"

"Lot's of them—including poker." She looked at Rose. "Do you know how to play poker?"

"More or less." In high school, Rose, Trudy, and Sophie had played poker when no one was looking, never betting anything except for who had to drive or who had to buy snacks when they went somewhere.

"Good. I have an idea for making some money."

"I think the casinos provide their own cards, Daffodil."

"Not the casinos." She looked at Rose disdainfully. "They probably wouldn't let you in, anyway. You're too young."

"So, what's your plan, then?"

"We set up our own game out here."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"I don't know."

"Daffodil, if you get us arrested…"

"It's perfectly harmless. Nobody's required to play, and I don't need to cheat to win. I'm good at this."

"Bully for you. I'm only average."

"And a lot of players are below average."

"And then there's those who have some skill. Daffodil, we don't have the money to lose."

"We don't have it to win, either." She put her hand out as though she were about to make a speech. "When you got nothin', you got nothin' to lose."

Rose's conscience screamed that this wasn't a good idea, but her adventurous side didn't listen. "All right. I'm in. But if we wind up wandering all over Reno again, picking up trash to recycle, I swear I'm going to kill you."

* * *

Daffodil and Rose set up their poker game on a faintly lit side street, away from the major casinos but close to the cheapest hotels. With very little effort, they got several adventurous gamblers to join their game.

Things went well at first—they won enough to break even—but soon Daffodil's boasted-of skill proved to be less than she had claimed. She and Rose sat across the makeshift table from their opponents, two men from Europe, one of whom was highly skilled and the other of whom hardly knew what he was doing.

Rose leaned over to Daffodil, scowling. "You are a royal idiot," she whispered. "You bet all of our money."

Daffodil just shrugged. "Like I said, when you got nothin', you got nothin' to lose."

"Remember that when we're scrounging for change and digging through the trash for food."

Their opponents tossed another twenty into the pile in the center of the table. Daffodil dealt the next hand. After some exchanging and shuffling of cards, she looked up from her hand, her face carefully blank. "Okay, let's see what we've got."

Rose and the less-skilled European tourist had nothing. Rose glared at Daffodil as she turned to the other player, looking at the hand he set down.

"Hmm…two pair. Rats. I'm sorry, everyone."

Rose hissed at her. "Daffodil, you moron…"

Daffodil tossed down her cards. "Full house! You see, Rose? You should have trusted me."

The two men who had been playing poker stared at them in disbelief. "You cheated!"

"I did not! You're just not very skilled!"

"Daffodil…" Rose hissed, tugging on her friend's sleeve. "Shut up…"

"You wanna play another round? Try to win your money back?"

Before the men had a chance to reply, a police car, lights flashing, turned onto the side street. Rose looked up, grabbing Daffodil's arm. "I think we've been reported!"

"Shit!" Daffodil leaned across the table, scooping the money into her bag. "Help me here!"

One of the men tried to stop them, but Daffodil shoved him aside, knocking over the table as she scooped up the last of the change.

"Run!" She gave Rose a shove. "Let's get out of here."

Rose raced along behind Daffodil as they darted around a corner, her shorter legs making it hard to keep up.

"You idiot! I told you this was a bad idea, but no, you wouldn't listen!"

"I didn't think we'd get caught! I didn't get caught last time!"

"I guess your luck ran out!"

"We've doubled our money!"

"And we're about to get arrested. Of the stupid, idiotic things you could come up with—"

"Shut up!"

"You don't have to worry about being arrested or being caught by an angry loser! I'm going to kill you myself!"

"Stop complaining and run!" They saw another car approaching and raced around another corner, only to find themselves in a blind alley.

"Now what?" Rose exclaimed, catching up with Daffodil at the chain link fence at the end of the alley.

"Here!" Daffodil pulled herself up on the fence. "We climb."

Rose followed her, slipping once and nearly falling. "If they catch us, I'm going to squeal. I swear it!"

"Come on! There's a bus stopping right up this way."

Rose jumped off the fence, coming down hard on the ankle she had injured in May, and cursed. Before she could stop, though, Daffodil grabbed her by the arm, pulling her along.

"Ow! Shit! I hurt myself!"

"You'll be hurting a lot worse if they catch you!"

Rose turned her head to see the sore losers following them. "Dammit!"

"Just run!"

They caught up to the bus as it was closing its door. "Wait! Let us on!"

Reluctantly, the bus driver let them on, letting them sit down as they dug out the necessary fare.

"Where is this bus going?" Daffodil gasped, paying the fare.

The bus driver looked at them oddly. "Carson City," he said, before pulling away.

"Good enough."

Rose and Daffodil made their way to the middle of the bus, throwing themselves into an empty seat and watching as the bus pulled away, leaving their pursuers behind. They had eluded the police when they had climbed the fence, but their fellow poker players watched in fury as the bus pulled away with them on it.

Daffodil looked out the window, seeing them catch sight of her. Grinning impudently, she raised a stiff middle finger as the bus drove away into the night.


	15. The Wayfaring Stranger 14

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Fourteen**

Rose and Daffodil sat in silence as the bus moved onward into the night, not looking at each other. Rose was still steaming, furious that Daffodil had almost gotten them arrested. She knew that she shouldn't have agreed to Daffodil's plan, but it didn't stop her from blaming her friend for getting them into this mess. It would be a long time before they dared to show their faces in Reno again, and she had rather liked the city.

Finally, as the lights of Reno disappeared into the distance, Rose turned to Daffodil. "Would you care to explain what that was all about? You knew that back alley poker was illegal, and yet you engaged in it anyway, dragged me into it, and almost got us both arrested. What were you thinking?"

Daffodil glanced at Rose, then looked out the window again, ignoring her.

"Answer me, Daffodil!"

"Why should I? I've never answered to anyone for what I've done, and I'm not starting with you."

"Oh, I think you will."

"And why is that?"

"Because I have the outer seat, and I'm not letting you up until you give me some answers."

"I can sit here as long as you can, Rose."

"Besides, you owe me some answers, after all the trouble you've gotten us into. You've been bitching constantly since we hitched that ride to Reno. What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. Unlike you, Rose, I am perfectly capable of resolving issues on my own without running away from my problems."

"Of course. You don't run away from your problems. You stab them in the back when they aren't looking."

"Fuck you!"

"Same to you."

They sat in angry silence for a few more minutes, until Daffodil spoke again.

"You're a fine one to lecture me about not talking about things, Rose. You never have told me all the details of why you left Masline after the earthquake."

"And I won't, either. Not until I feel like it."

"And when will that be?"

"Never, the way you're going."

"Oh, so I'm to blame, am I?"

Rose gave Daffodil a withering look. "Obviously."

Daffodil stiffened. "Look, I know I shouldn't have gotten us into that poker game, okay? But we got away with it, no one was hurt, and we have enough money to relax for a while now. Why don't you just chill out? If you didn't want to participate in that poker game, you should have said so."

"And would you have listened?"

"I can't force you to do anything, Rose. I pity the person who would try."

Rose gave Daffodil a startled look, glad that she had never revealed most of the things that had happened in the last year. She had certainly been forced—or conned—into doing a lot of things that she hadn't wanted to do.

And then she realized that Daffodil was right. It would be very difficult to force her to do anything now. On the night of the earthquake, she had found her inner strength, and had been changed by it. No longer could she sit in misery, wishing that things were different. If she didn't like the way things were, she would do what she could to change them, and if she couldn't change them, push them out of her life.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"What?" Daffodil gave her an odd look.

"Thank you, for pointing out what I should have recognized already. My life is my own, and no one can control it but me."

"Okay. That's very profound. Where did this come from?"

"Oh…it was your words about no one being able to force me to do anything."

"Oh. Well, I guess I did the right thing this time."

"You usually do the right thing. You've just been bitchy and itching for a fight for the last few days."

Daffodil rolled her eyes and sighed, turning to look out the window. Rose grimaced and sat back, wishing that she hadn't brought it up again.

A few minutes later, though, Daffodil turned from the window and looked at Rose. "Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanted to know why I didn't want to go to Reno?"

Rose sat up straighter. "Are you going to tell me?"

Daffodil was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Reno is to me what Masline is to you."

Rose stared at her. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"You have your secrets, and I have mine. There are things that I would rather not bring up. Besides, you seemed so eager to go there, I didn't want to burst your bubble by saying I didn't want to go. You spend far too much time being sad."

"I do?"

"Yes, though I must say that you're honest about what you're feeling. You don't hide it under a mask of bravado."

"And you do?"

"Sometimes. When I think about it."

Rose looked at her for a moment, nodding in understanding. "Do you want to tell me why you don't like Reno? I'll understand if you don't."

Daffodil thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I'll tell you."

"Okay." Rose looked at her, wondering what could be so terrible that a person would want to leave a place and never return. She knew why she had left Masline, but what could Daffodil have encountered in Reno that was so terrible?

Daffodil turned to Rose, trying to think of how to proceed. "I never told you this, but I am half of a set of twins. Identical twins."

"You have an identical twin? Where's your sister?"

Daffodil paused, thinking of what to say next. "We're very different in personality, as identical twins often are, but we still used to be very close. We both liked Reno, and since we were shared a small apartment in Sacramento for a while, it wasn't too terribly far to drive to get there, close enough that we could go there on long weekends."

Rose nodded. "What's her name?"

"Willow. Mom really likes plants and such, especially when we were born. At any rate, Willow and I liked Reno. I was most fond of the river, being a self-proclaimed child of nature, but the casinos weren't bad, either, and we liked seeing some of the acts that came there to perform. Willow, though, really liked the casinos, not so much for the gambling, but because they were such lively places. We weren't averse to creating a little of our own excitement, too, so we held the occasional independent poker game in our hotel room. We won some, lost some—it rarely caused any trouble, until the last time."

"What happened?"

"We won, and the losers were pretty upset about it. They'd bet a lot of money, and weren't happy that they'd lost it. That happens when a person gambles, but they didn't see it that way. They were sure we had cheated."

"Sounds familiar," Rose commented dryly.

"Let me finish, okay?" Daffodil took a deep breath, then went on. "They walked out in a huff, saying that they were going to complain to the manager about our little gambling operation. We knew that we'd be in trouble, so we quickly packed our bags and left." She turned to look out the window. "They didn't go to the manager, though. They knew that such a threat would make us leave quickly, and they were waiting for us in the parking lot.

"We got to the car and got in, but they followed us. They couldn't have done anything at the hotel—at least, not without attracting attention—so they tried to follow us to a place where no one would see. We kept on going, trying to avoid them, but they kept trying to herd us away from the main road. Finally, they cut us off and put on the brakes, trying to cause a collision—with that, they could have collected the insurance money as well as the money they had lost to us. I swerved around them—I was driving—and right into the path of a pickup truck. It hit us, shoving us into the car that was trying to cut us off.

"The driver of the pickup truck and I were uninjured, though my car was totaled. The two men who had been pursuing us drove away, and I haven't heard anything of them since—they weren't the ones we encountered tonight. But Willow took the main force of the collision when we were pushed into the other car. She fractured her spine and is paralyzed from the waist down—and she blamed me for what had happened. We haven't spoken since the accident, which was three years ago, not even when she was in the hospital. Identical twins are special, but we haven't even seen each other since she got out of the hospital."

"Oh, Daffodil. How awful." Rose looked at her sympathetically.

Daffodil was blinking her eyes rapidly, trying to hold back tears. Rose hugged her, rocking her for a moment.

Daffodil finally pulled away, wiping her eyes quickly and looking back out the window. "Thanks, Rose."

Rose was silent for a moment. Then, gathering her courage, she said, "What I don't understand is why you wanted to play another game of illegal poker, after all that happened the last time."

Daffodil shrugged. "I wasn't thinking too clearly about it, but I had this feeling that if I could do it again and get away with it, it would negate some of what happened before. I guess I was trying to prove something to myself. After all, I survived the accident with no injuries, while Willow will never walk again. It was kind of like an act of defiance, like no one could tell me what to do, no matter what the consequences."

Rose looked at her. "At least this time no one was hurt. But Daffodil, please don't get into any more illegal poker games. It's just too dangerous. You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and I would hate to see you get killed or imprisoned because you feel a need to prove yourself and negate the past. If I were your sister, I'd forgive you and get on with life."

"You aren't Willow. You don't hold grudges like she does." Daffodil looked out the window again.

Rose wasn't so sure about that. She hadn't seen her mother in months, and wasn't sure she ever wanted to see her after the way she had tried to marry her off to Cal Hockley. And she didn't think she could ever forgive Cal for abusing her or for killing Jack, no matter what he did to try to make up for the past.

She didn't tell Daffodil these things, though. There were some secrets she couldn't share.


	16. The Wayfaring Stranger 15

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Fifteen

After leaving Reno, Rose and Daffodil wandered for several weeks. They got off the bus in Carson City, but not seeing anything to keep them there, moved on the following day. Reno itself had been at a high elevation, and thus much cooler and more pleasant than the desert, but after leaving they soon found themselves in the Nevada desert, which was hotter, drier, and more barren than the western California desert had been.

It was this that convinced them to turn back west, knowing that the desert went on for hundreds of miles to the east and was often sparsely populated. It was much harder to find food, water, and work in the Nevada desert, and their efforts at all three were far too often unsuccessful. Had they been more familiar with the land and its residents, they might have had an easier time, but neither was prepared to brave the desert that had been sparsely populated even before settlement.

They were also much farther to the north than they had been before, and were well aware that fall was not far away. It was early August when they turned west again, wanting to leave the desert but also hoping to avoid the Sierras, to which fall came early.

Fortunately, they found it easier to hitch rides on the lonely stretches of interstate highway leading back toward California. First a trucker picked them up and took them as far as the base of the eastern Sierras, and then a Midwestern teacher traveling to a new job in California gave them a ride as far as Bear Valley in the western Sierras.

Daffodil was leery of stopping in a town so high in the mountains, especially since the first signs of fall were in the air, but they didn't really have a choice. Tourists were still thick in the town, so they found work again washing cars, carrying luggage, and for Rose, singing. She learned several new songs from a couple with an interest in traditional American music, and even sang with them one night before the couple left for home.

Both were surprised when they were rewarded for a search-and-rescue effort. A child had wandered off into the surrounding mountains, and since both knew a fair amount about searching, they volunteered to help find him.

They searched through the surrounding area, along with people who knew the area itself, and finally found the seven-year-old boy beside a spring three miles from the outskirts of town. He was cold and damp from a dip in the spring, but otherwise unharmed. However, he was also furious that they had found him, since he hadn't wandered off but had run away, and had no desire to be returned to his parents. It had taken a great deal of struggle before Rose and Daffodil had been able to drag him back to town.

The boy's mother had been very relieved, telling them that he often ran off with the aspiration to live in the woods, and insisted upon paying them for their efforts. Rose and Daffodil refused—they hadn't searched for him with money in mind—but when their backs were turned she slipped a hundred dollar bill into each of their bags. By the time they discovered the money, the family had already left, and they couldn't return it.

With the nights growing ever longer and colder, they decided not to take the chance of being stranded homeless in the Sierras during the winter and took a bus north, finally making their way to a green, wooded campground in western Oregon.


	17. The Wayfaring Stranger 16

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Sixteen

_August 27, 2003_

Rose hummed to herself as she pounded a tent stake into the ground. This was one of the nicest campgrounds she had been in—as green and pretty as the western Sierras, but warmer, even if it was still cool this close to the coast.

She and Daffodil had chosen a spot under a large, sprawling tree—at midweek, there weren't so many people camping, so they had their choice of camping spots. There was a small stream nearby, but they could get their water from faucets here, so they didn't need to bother to fetch and purify the stream water, which was just as well, since wood had to be purchased and there as only a little non-recyclable trash that they could burn. They would have a cold dinner tonight, but that wasn't a great hardship. They had dealt with worse things.

When the tent was up and the beds made, Daffodil slipped over to the stream to pick the wild blueberries that most people couldn't even identify, let alone think of picking, while Rose went through their food supplies, opening a couple of cans and packages and getting water from the faucet at their campsite.

Rose sighed contentedly as she got dinner ready. With Reno and the trouble they had gotten into far behind them, she had finally relaxed and was able to enjoy each day without wondering if someone was following them. The campground was quiet and cool, the sun sinking low in the sky. It was a perfect evening.

Smiling to herself, Rose began to sing, taking a song that she had learned from Daffodil and making up new words as she went along.

_Early one evening  
I was rolling around  
I was feeling kind of mean  
And shot a ground squirrel down._

She laughed to herself at the ridiculousness of the song, then decided it wasn't so ridiculous as she shooed a hungry squirrel away from the plates.

_I strolled along home  
And I went to bed  
Well, I laid my pistol  
Up under my head.  
I strolled along home  
Yeah, I took my time  
And I went to bed  
Thought I'd sleep some  
Laid my pistol  
Big .22  
Up under my head  
I keep it handy._

Daffodil came back and listened to her, rolling her eyes. Rose ignored her and went on.

_Early next morning  
About the break of day  
I figured it was time  
To make a getaway  
Stepping right along  
But I was stepping too slow  
Got surrounded by a sheriff  
Down in Oregano._

"Oregano?" Daffodil looked at her like she was crazy.

"What? It makes sense," Rose retorted. "We're in Oregon and the ground squirrels are a nuisance. Oregano works better than Mexico, which is what's in the original song."

"You probably would be surrounded by a sheriff if you shot a ground squirrel. Cruelty to animals, you know."

"If people were a little crueler to the ground squirrels, they might not be so aggressive." She turned, making a flying leap at their plates as another squirrel approached, showing an unholy interest in the trail mix.

Daffodil smirked. "The dirty plate is yours."

"Oh…be quiet." She brushed away the dust and threw a pebble at the squirrel, who was waiting just out of reach. "Think we could get away with hunting a couple of those pests? We could get some wood for a fire and cut them up for stew. Nobody would know the difference."

"Squirrel stew…" Daffodil wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully. "Sounds good, but I think we should restrain ourselves. There's no use getting in more trouble."

"For those pests, it would almost be worth it." Rose picked up a sunflower seed and threw it at the squirrel to see what would happen. The squirrel, obviously not expecting it, ducked and scurried away as it had from the pebble, then scampered back out, grabbed the seed, and scrambled back into the bushes.

"Aw, you scared it," Daffodil teased her.

Rose was about to reply when three young men from a nearby campsite approached them, their flashlights bright in the growing darkness. She glanced up at them, then turned back to her dinner, deciding that ignoring them was the best course of action.

They weren't so interested in ignoring her, though. One of them bent down to speak to her.

"Mind if we join you?"

Rose gave them a disdainful look. "Yes. We do mind."

He didn't listen. "I heard you singing a little while ago, that weird song about squirrels and oregano. You sound really good."

"What part of no do you not understand?" Rose set her plate down, her eyes narrowing. "We're trying to eat here."

"Sorry. We just heard you singing and had to say hello. We're a band ourselves, see? Me, Angel, and Jim. Oh, and I'm Tim, by the way."

"Good for you. Why don't you go sing for someone else?"

Rose turned back to her dinner when Daffodil looked more closely at the three young men. "Tim? Tim Myers, is that you?"

Tim looked at Daffodil, who had been sitting some distance away, unnoticed by them. "Daffodil Kirkpatrick! What are you doing here? Last I heard, you'd headed back to California."

"That was last winter. I'm back in Oregon for a while, I guess."

"Cool. Who's your friend?"

"This is Rose DeWitt-Bukater, formerly of Masline, California, now a citizen of the world." Daffodil tossed her head, daring Rose to refute her words.

Rose just rolled her eyes at her. Citizen of the world, indeed!

"You know these guys?"

"Sure. Rose, this is Tim Myers, Jim Patterson, and Angel Morales, all from Texas, originally. We were neighbors a few years ago. By the way, Tim, how are things going for the band?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. We need a better singer." His eyes fell on Rose. "Hey, maybe you could—"

"No."

"You have something else planned?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

Tim looked at Daffodil. "I like her. I really do. Taking on protégées now, Daffodil?"

"Rose is her own person. She learns what she wants, when she wants, and does as she pleases."

"I bet you've taught her everything you know."

"Not quite everything, Tim. And she's taught me a few things, too."

"I have?" Rose looked at Daffodil incredulously. "Like what?"

"Like how to deal with conflict without getting into trouble."

"Not too well, apparently. You're quite capable of getting into trouble, and dragging me in."

"Whatever. Hey, Tim, how about adding two female singers to your band? I sing pretty well in a group."

Tim hesitated, obviously trying to think of a way of saying no that wouldn't get him into trouble. "Um…"

"Not me," Rose told him.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Yes, Rose, why not?" Daffodil wanted to know.

"Because I don't know them. How do I know they aren't just a bunch of con artists?"

"_I_ know them."

"Good. Now, how do I know they aren't con artists?"

"You don't have to give us any money, or credit card numbers, or bank account numbers," Angel put in.

"What else don't I have to give you?"

Angel shrugged. "Don't worry about me coming on to you. There's no one for me but Jim."

Jim smacked him over the head, then agreed with him. "Yeah, we're an item, so you don't have to worry about us."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "An item, huh? Okay. I can live with that. What about Tim?"

"Oh, don't worry," Tim told her, putting a familiar arm around Daffodil. "Daffodil and I are good friends."

Daffodil pushed his arm away. "Lay one finger on me, Tim, and I'll remove it, as well as any other body parts that are convenient. I think Rose will do the same. Got it?"

Tim just laughed, but he didn't try to put his arm back around her. "Come on, Rose. Join us. We've already got a nightclub gig scheduled in Portland in two days."

"I don't know your songs."

"We'll teach you. We sing country."

"Folk-country," Daffodil corrected.

"Daffodil, I'm trying to convince her to join us, not make her think we're a bunch of hicks."

"I've been learning folk songs," Rose told him. "Daffodil has been teaching me. Aren't a lot of them country songs now, too?"

Tim was silent for a moment, trying to figure how Daffodil could teach songs to anybody—how anybody could stand to listen to her sing long enough to learn the words, let alone the tune. "Well, but wouldn't you like something more…conventional better?"

"No. Not these days." Rose stood up. "All right. I'll go along. But remember, if I don't like it, I'm out of there."

He sighed. "Okay. Whatever you say. You'll be riding in the van with us, won't you?"

"I guess we will," Daffodil replied. "It's probably the easiest way to keep up with you."

Tim looked at her in dismay, suddenly realizing that if the band wanted Rose, they'd have to take Daffodil, too. He sighed, hoping he could keep her away from the microphone—maybe dance, or do a comedy routine.

"Okay. You can both come. Daffodil…how would you like to do some stand-up comedy?"

"Now?"

"No…when we're performing. I think you're better at telling jokes than…uh…"

"Singing?"

"Well…yeah."

"I'm not that bad!"

"You could dance while we sing, too…you could even lip-synch…"

Daffodil looked at him warningly. "I sound just fine in a group."

"Yes," Rose interjected. "You sound fine if no one can hear you."

Daffodil glared at her. "You're not helping. Besides, if I'm that bad, how did you learn songs from me?"

"I guess I just have an ear for music, is all."

"So, you admit that I can carry a tune."

"Daffodil, come on…"

"Admit it. I'm not that bad. I'm not great, but I'm not that terrible, either."

"You have a limited vocal range. You've said it yourself."

"Some professionals have had a limited vocal range, too. And," she added, "a lot of them sang folk songs."

"Name one."

"Woody Guthrie."

"He's been dead for almost forty years."

"Nevertheless…"

"Girls…" Tim tried to stop their argument, then realized his mistake in calling them girls when they both turned to glare at him. "Ladies…"

"What?!" Daffodil demanded.

"Daffodil, you can try to sing…as long as you blend in with the rest of us."

"Fair enough."

"But maybe you could do a comedy routine, too."

"We'll see. I'll think about it."

Tim nodded, hoping Daffodil wouldn't ruin the band's already dismal prospects. "Good. Now, do you want to share our campsite with us?"

"No way!" Rose and Daffodil were in agreement on that.

"You stay at your campsite, we'll stay at ours," Daffodil added.

He started to argue, but stopped when Daffodil stood up, towering several inches over him.

"Right. See you tomorrow, then."

"Wait." Rose stopped them. "What is your band called?"

"_Hard Times_," Tim told her. "It suits, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Rose agreed. "It certainly does."


	18. The Wayfaring Stranger 17

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Seventeen

The band's first gig after Rose and Daffodil joined was a success. People loved listening to Rose's voice, untrained though it was, and even applauded Daffodil, who made up for her lack of musical talent by hamming it up and singing softly in chorus with the others.

After several more performances at various places in Portland, they moved on again. Tim was needed in Texas for his sister's wedding, and for lack of anything better to do, the rest of the band went with him, enduring a three-day trip in the un-air conditioned van from Oregon to a small town in southern Texas, near the Mexico border.

Tim usually invited Rose to sit next to him as he drove, telling the others that she was the most entertaining one, which didn't sit well with the other members of the band, stuck in the sweltering back. Rose accepted at first, but when Tim began to try to flirt with her, she reminded him of Daffodil's warning and sat in the back.

Tim was nice enough, Rose thought, and good-looking as well, but she wasn't ready for a new relationship. Jack had only been dead for four months, and the memory of Cal was still at the front of her mind. Tim wasn't much like either one, but Rose had no intention of getting involved with anyone until she was ready. It wouldn't have been fair to Tim, either, for her to get involved with him, since it would have been a rebound relationship, not the most stable kind, and her mind was still dwelling on someone else.

Once they arrived in Texas, everyone scattered to their old homes, except for Rose and Daffodil, who shared a cheap motel room on the outskirts of town. They didn't make a lot of money with the band, but it was enough for food and shelter, and they weren't particularly interested in acquiring more things that they would have to drag around with them.

In the small-town environment, everyone was known except Rose, who was soon accepted because of her association with the others. Things were different there from on the road—Rose observed that Jim and Angel gave no indication of their relationship, and Tim, who had still not stopped flirting with her, became more circumspect.

Underneath it all, though, they were still the unruly pack of drifters who had been brought together by a mutual love of music. Although there were creative differences, they still managed to function as a team, and spent several evenings performing in the town's one bar, which attracted a large portion of the town's population. There was very little entertainment available—the town didn't even have a movie theater—so the presence of a band mostly from the town itself was a major draw.

_Hard Times_ also performed at the wedding, with Rose and Tim singing a duet in the church before the ceremony and the whole band playing at the reception. There was a piano available, and Rose, who had taken piano lessons as a child, soon remembered what to do. Her playing wasn't on a professional level, but she did well enough, especially when she sang along with her music.

The day after the wedding, Tim announced that he had managed to book them for several gigs in small towns near the border, and the band was off again, piling into the van and heading for their next engagement.


	19. The Wayfaring Stranger 18

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Eighteen**

_September 25, 2003_

_Hard Times_' first gig since they had left Oregon was in a small town on the border between Texas and Mexico, not far from the Gulf. It was a hot, humid night when they performed there in a small, grungy nightclub. But it was a gig, and they were glad to get it.

Rose had become one of the band's lead singers, along with Tim. Jim and Angel played the guitar and the drum, Rose played the piano if one was available, and Daffodil sang in the background when they couldn't talk her out of it and did a comedy routine. Both Daffodil and Rose were good dancers, better than any of the guys in the band, so they added that to their shows.

Rose had taken a great deal of interest in music since she had joined the band, and had been taking guitar lessons from Angel, though she was not yet skilled enough to play one onstage. Nevertheless, her natural talent, combined with her unquenchable interest, allowed her to learn quickly, and it wouldn't be long before she could join the other two musicians on the stage.

It was unpleasantly hot the night they first performed in the nightclub, and the air conditioning had gone out, making it worse. People packed the small nightclub for lack of anything more interesting to do, both to socialize and to drink, and the din of voices made the band hard to hear.

Nevertheless, they persisted. A few people stood close to the small stage, listening, and others danced. It wasn't the easiest place to perform in, but it was something, and they did their best to make themselves heard.

Surprisingly, Rose attracted more attention than anyone else, in spite of her inexperience, and people gathered around to listen when she came forward to do a few solos. She sang two of the more conventional songs, one that the band had written, and then launched into what had become her signature song, the traditional ballad _The Wayfaring Stranger_.

_I am a poor, wayfaring stranger  
Wandering through this world of woe  
But there's no sickness  
No toil or danger  
In that bright land  
To which I go._

_I'm going there to meet my mother  
She said she'd meet me when I come  
I'm only going over Jordan  
I'm only going over home._

_I'll soon be free from every trial  
My body asleep in the old graveyard  
I'll drop the cross  
Of self-denial  
And enter on my great reward._

_I'm going there to meet my father  
I'm going there no more to roam  
I'm only going over Jordan  
I'm only going over home._

_I'm only going over home._

There was a burst of applause when she finished the song. It had been one of the first she had learned, listening to Daffodil sing to herself as she worked around that first camp in the California mountains, and it meant the most to her.

It fit her perfectly, with the life she had chosen, for she was indeed a wayfaring stranger, and for the time being, she intended to stay that way.

Tim came up to her after the show, complimenting her on a job well done.

"You sang that last solo really well," he told her. "You sounded like you meant it."

"I did," Rose told him, not wanting to discuss it. She expressed herself in song, but that didn't mean that she wanted to discuss her feelings with anyone else.

"What is it with you, Rose? What makes you tick?"

"My cardiovascular system makes me tick," she replied lightly, trying to make a joke of it.

"No, really. Why are you the way you are? You always having this sad look about you, like you're remembering something painful."

"Maybe I am."

"What are you remembering?"

"Maybe nothing. Tim, I really don't want to discuss it."

He sighed. "You just seem so sad sometimes."

"I know, but that's personal. I'd rather keep it to myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, if you ever want to talk about it…"

"Maybe someday. We'll see. Just…don't pressure me, okay? That's the quickest way to get me to clam up. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's late and I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned and left, heading for the motel. Tim watched her go, brow furrowed. Rose DeWitt-Bukater was one of the most interesting women he'd ever met, and her reticence just made her more intriguing.


	20. The Wayfaring Stranger 19

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Nineteen

In the months that followed, the members of _Hard Times_ moved from gig to gig on both sides of the border, slowly heading west again. The work was often hard, as they had to provide and carry almost everything they used themselves, but they kept going. Time and time again, creative differences threatened to split them apart, but somehow they managed to work through them, largely through the help of Rose, who had a talent for negotiation.

A few of the gigs fell through, and it was all the harder to deal with when they traveled to a new place, only to find that they had no work. Sometimes they tried Rose and Daffodil's trick of street performing, but it wasn't always successful, or even allowed. On one occasion, they were driven out of town by an angry mob accusing them of disturbing the peace and practicing immorality, something which Rose and Daffodil later laughed uproariously over, since the mob had been far less peaceful and far more immoral than the band.

Even when work was steady, they rarely made more money than was needed to survive, but none of them really cared, too caught up in the experience of the music to care about the money. There had been some conflict over how to split the income made from their gigs, but it was finally decided that since they contributed equally, they should each receive an equal amount of the profits, small though they were.

The band moved from town to town, staying in cheap motels and campgrounds, and sometimes the van if no other accommodations could be found. Rose and Daffodil taught the other band members about ways to save money on food and shelter, making it stretch farther.

It was during this time that Rose and Tim's relationship began to change. Rose knew that it wasn't a good idea to get involved with Tim—her memories of Jack were still too strong—but he was persistent, and she missed the feeling of being in a close relationship. Against her better judgment, Rose gave in to his flirting, allowing him to take her out to dinner one night after they were finished performing.

The evening was a success, more fun than Rose had expected, and she allowed him to take her out the next night, too, at a small town fair where they had been performing. After several such evenings, Rose took the initiative to ask Tim out, and from that moment on, they were considered a couple. Of the five band members, Daffodil was the only one unattached, but she didn't seem to mind, flirting harmlessly and enjoying the company of whoever caught her fancy.

Rose was initially uncomfortable when Tim wanted to take their relationship to another level. She didn't love him, though she enjoyed his company and his friendship. Sex was still a sensitive issue for her, though seven months had passed since Cal had raped her. She had felt comfortable enough sleeping with Jack—but she had loved him. She liked Tim, and cared for him, but it wasn't the same.

She also worried about the possibility of conceiving an unwanted child. She was enjoying her freedom and her travels, and didn't want a baby at this point. She had been fortunate enough not to conceive from her evening with Jack—she had had no access to her birth control pills after that night, and had never resumed taking them. There had indeed been a possibility that she would get pregnant, but she hadn't, and much as she had loved Jack, she had been relieved. She hadn't been in a position to take care of a baby—and still wasn't, for that matter.

But in keeping with her desire to try new things, Rose pushed away her misgivings, bought several packages of condoms, and began sleeping with her new boyfriend. Occasionally, she still wondered at the wisdom of her actions, but for the most part she enjoyed the physical side of their relationship, and pushed away thoughts of the emotional entanglement she was getting ever deeper into.


	21. The Wayfaring Stranger 20

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty

_November 15, 2003  
Arizona_

"_Es frio. Es muy frio_."

Rose nestled deeper into the oversize coat she had bought at a yard sale in New Mexico, practicing her Spanish and complaining about the weather at the same time.

Daffodil glanced up from where she was wrapped in the comforter from Rose's bedroll. She had given her own coat to a homeless woman in the last town they had performed in, and had been complaining about the cold ever since.

"Duh, Rose. Tell me something I don't know."

"Shut up, Daffodil. I'm being nice enough to lend you my quilt, after you gave your coat away."

"That woman was freezing."

"Maybe she would have had enough money to buy a coat if she hadn't spent it all in cheap nightclubs like that one."

"People like her pay your way. Don't complain."

"Nobody's been paying our way for the past couple of weeks. That's why we're here."

As the season had advanced and winter approached, the number of gigs _Hard Times_ had been able to get had thinned out considerably. There had been no work for the past two weeks—and as a result, little money available for food and shelter. They had been staying in a sparsely populated campground in the mountains for the past week and a half, getting their water from a poorly insulated faucet and their food wherever they could find it.

Rose moved into the shelter of the tent she shared with Daffodil as a gust of cold wind blew her red curls around her face. "Could you possibly have chosen a colder spot to camp?"

"Yes. We could have hiked into the mountains, where we wouldn't have had water or access to a wasteful market for our food. At least we don't have to pay for this spot. Hardly anyone wants to be here at this time of year."

"I never knew Arizona was so cold." Rose picked up a blanket and wrapped herself in it, crawling from the tent and sitting beside the banked fire. In such a dry area, fuel for the fire was hard to find, and they didn't have the money to buy all they wanted, so the fire was only stoked for cooking.

"I guess you've never been here at this time of year."

"This is the first time I've been here at all. Arizona was never on my family's list of vacation spots. Everyone says it's so hot."

"In the summer, sure. But winter comes here, too."

"I noticed." Rose wiggled her toes, extending them towards the glowing coals. Even with two pairs of socks and her hiking boots on, her feet were freezing. She could only hope that they would find work soon, preferably somewhere warm.

"Say something else in Spanish," Daffodil encouraged. "Something I don't already know."

Rose looked into the distance, where Tim had driven off in the van to search for a pay phone. He made calls every day, trying to get them more gigs, although Jim and Angel had encouraged him to give up for the time being and return to Texas, where it was warmer and they had friends and family.

"_Tim es un _punk," she remarked sourly, getting a laugh from Daffodil.

"That's only partly in Spanish. And I knew that, too."

"Fine. _Tim es un cabron_."

Daffodil raised an eyebrow at her. "A bastard? Did you two get into another fight?"

"We fight, we kiss and make up, we fight again…"

"With plenty of sex in between."

"Daffodil!"

"Well, you do."

"Do you want him? Because I've had it up to here with him. You can have him."

Daffodil wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you. _El cabron _is all yours."

Rose didn't reply, but only wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and leaned back, looking up at the vast blue autumn sky. She and Tim did argue a lot. The camaraderie they had shared when they had only been friends had largely disappeared, replaced by a relationship that was based more on lust than anything else. It had been bad judgment on her part to sleep with him, no matter how much he had pressured her, but she hadn't quite been thinking with her head when she had first told him yes.

They were both at fault, she admitted to herself. Part of her irritation came from comparing him with Jack. It was unfair of her to do so, she knew, since they were two entirely different people, but she couldn't help it. She could never feel as close to Tim as she had to Jack; he would never be her confidante. They were lovers, nothing more, and like most relationships based on lust, with nothing more substantial to keep them together, the spark between them had burned out fast.

It was nothing like her relationship with Cal had been, for there had been even less of substance there. She had been coerced into her engagement with Cal, and it had felt wrong from the start. She had been with him out of fear, and from a sense of obligation. She hadn't exactly been a trophy girlfriend—Cal had been too young for that, and few trophy girlfriends or wives were immature teenagers fresh out of high school—but there had never really been any love between them. She had liked him at one time, but that had soon turned to fear and hatred when he showed his true colors, becoming controlling and abusive. She had, in a way, been a prize possession for him—something he had been able to acquire using the money and power he had gained so quickly in his career, and his ego had been badly bruised when she had broken off their engagement—so badly bruised that his violent, jealous nature had once again come to the surface, his rage not spent this time until someone had died.

Rose closed her eyes, letting a beam of sunshine warm her face. _I miss you, Jack,_ she thought. _What are you doing now, I wonder? Have you been reunited with your parents? Have you met my father? I wonder what he thinks of you. He made a lot of mistakes, but he loved me. I was the apple of his eye, when he was around. Mom thought he spoiled me, but since she hardly paid any attention to me, I guess he had to make up for that._

It had been a year to the day she and Jack had first glimpsed each other in the hallway at Sunpeak. Rose had never forgotten that moment. She had felt an odd sense of connection to the young man watching her sympathetically from the stairwell—and then he had saved her life a few nights later. They had soon become close friends and confidantes, trusting each other implicitly. Even when Cal had framed Jack for stealing her engagement ring, she had soon realized that he was innocent, and had come to his aid. He had been there when she needed him, and even when he was dying, he had made sure that she would survive, extracting a promise that she would go on. They had been friends, lovers, soulmates…and she was still recovering from his loss.

It had been much too soon for her to become involved with another man, and if she had been thinking straight, she wouldn't have. It was unfair to Tim for her to have jumped into a relationship with him so quickly. No one had forced her to do so, and she had no one to blame for her bad judgment but herself.

Rose sat up as the van rattled back up the dirt road, Tim at the wheel and Jim half-hanging out the window. Slowly, she got to her feet, reluctant to leave the warmth of the banked fire, and made her way towards the van, casting Tim a sour look as she did so. Their latest argument had been over her Spanish-speaking ability, or lack thereof, and she wasn't ready to forgive him for making fun of her.

Angel jumped out of the back of the van, a grocery bag in each hand. Rose raised an eyebrow at the extravagance, then frowned as Jim emerged from the van with a plastic-wrapped steak. Considering the cost of such things, she wasn't sure she wanted to know where he had gotten it. Jim was not averse to the occasional five-finger discount, if it was easy and the chance of getting caught was low. She couldn't approve, but hunger was a powerful motivator for her to turn a blind eye.

"What's going on?" she asked, approaching the van. "Are you sure we can afford this?"

"We finally got another gig," Tim announced, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "It's tomorrow night in Tijuana."

"Tijuana?" Daffodil asked, looking at the van, which had gained yet another crack in the windshield while they had taken it into town. "Are you sure the van will get us there?"

"She's never failed me yet," Tim assured her, slapping a hand on the hood.

Rose rolled her eyes. Leave it to Tim to refer to his car as a _she_.

He noticed her then, standing some distance away. "It's celebration time, Rosebud. We got some real food this time."

"Don't call me that." Rose turned her back on him.

"What? Rosebud? All right, then, Sweetpea, how about we build up the fire and start celebrating?"

Rose turned on him. "If you call me that one more time, I will personally sew your mouth shut. Do you understand? Don't call me pet names. My name is Rose, or Miss DeWitt-Bukater. Nothing else."

"Are you still mad about this morning?"

Rose walked in the direction of the fire, stirring the coals and adding some kindling to the fire. "Duh."

"Come on. I was just teasing you."

"Well, I didn't think it was funny."

"You have no sense of humor."

Rose gave him a look that sent him backing away, then added a couple of expletives for good measure. "Leave me alone, Tim. I am not in the mood."

The others were listening to their exchange with interest. Little happened in the small group that wasn't known to all, and Rose and Tim's less than calm relationship was a subject of constant speculation.

At the moment, though, Rose didn't care. She was sick of Tim, sick of being teased, sick of his confusion over why she didn't appreciate it. He just didn't understand, and probably never would. She had to break things off with him, and soon, before their growing conflict harmed the band as a whole.


	22. The Wayfaring Stranger 21

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-One

_November 16, 2003_

Rose sat in the front seat of the van, staring out at the window at the passing desert scenery. There wasn't much to see so late in the year, but it did distract her from her thoughts.

She had made up with Tim that morning, at least enough so that he was able to convince her to sit up front with him while he drove. She wasn't very good company, though, staring out the window and listening absently to the radio instead of talking to him—or anyone else, for that matter.

Rose sighed inwardly, looking at the dry, brown land that they were passing, barren except for a few saguaro cacti reaching toward the sky. They would be back in California soon, and in spite of her misgivings about returning to southern California, she was looking forward to performing again, looking forward to being warm and having enough to eat again.

She glanced behind her, seeing that the other three members of the band were dozing, lulled by the monotonous drive and the motion of the van. She was tired herself, having stayed up far too late the night before, but sleep wouldn't come.

She had been too irritable, her mind racing with thoughts that she couldn't suppress, to fall asleep the night before. She had sat beside the faintly glowing coals of the fire until the wee hours of the morning, ignoring both Tim and Daffodil when they told her she should get some rest. Instead, she had sat wrapped in her bedroll, listening to the coyotes and thinking.

First and foremost in her mind was her relationship with Tim. Getting involved with him at all had been a mistake—she realized that, although she had tried not to think about it. She should have insisted that things remain the way they were, with the two of them working together as business acquaintances, and perhaps friends, but she hadn't listened to the voice of reason that had told her that getting so involved with him was a bad idea. Instead, she had given in to their mutual lust, but there was nothing else to cement their relationship—and it had been too soon for her, anyway. Her mind, and her heart, were still filled by someone else, someone that Tim knew nothing about—and she wasn't about to tell him.

She had been thinking about Jack more lately—the greater the strain between herself and Tim, the more she remembered Jack, and how comfortable they had been together. Although Rose enjoyed her freedom, and the new life she had found, she couldn't help but wonder what her life would have been like if Jack had survived.

There wasn't any real use in speculating, of course—it was over and done with, in the past, and couldn't be changed—but she still wondered sometimes. Would they have stayed together? Would she have made her home with him? What direction might her life have taken, had Jack not been killed that night?

She probably would have stayed in Masline, but beyond that, she had no idea what she would have done. She thought about different scenarios, but the fact remained that she would never know. Jack had died, and she had set out on her own. Her life was what she made of it—as it would have been if he had lived, she realized. Once, she had been too afraid of what might happen to take control of her own life, to do what she wanted to do, but she had gained strength and conviction over the past year, and no one, no matter how much she loved and cared for them, would ever be able to run her life, whether their reasons were good or bad. She would have made her own decisions, just as she did now, but she knew with a certainty that Jack would have been a part of her life, one way or another.

Rose glanced into the back again. The other band members were still sleeping, looking almost childlike. Unless there was a loud noise, or a sudden stop, they probably wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

She turned to Tim, who was watching the road, looking a little sleepy himself. Tapping him on the shoulder, she steeled herself for what she had to say.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, Rose?"

"I…I…you know how we fight so much, and get on each other's nerves?"

He glanced at her, then returned to watching the road. "Yeah?"

"Tim…I…you know this isn't making either of us happy, and it's…not good for the band, either."

"And…let me guess…you want to break up."

Rose nodded, relieved that she hadn't had to say it herself. "Yes. I like you, Tim, I really do, but…"

"…but you're ready to move on."

"Well…actually…no. I should never have gotten involved with you in the first place. There's been…events…in my life that put a lot of pressure on me, and I jumped into our…relationship…without really thinking about the consequences. It was too soon, and we…we don't really have much to build a relationship on. I mean…we've had some good times together, but there isn't really any depth to what we have. I like working with you, but more than that…it was wrong of me to get involved, knowing that I wasn't ready. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to."

Tim didn't say anything for several minutes, but just stared at the road ahead of him, slowing as traffic became heavier near the Arizona-California border. Finally, he looked at her and spoke.

"I thought we had something good going."

"In some ways…it was. But in others…we were at odds too often, even at each other's throats. I've been thinking about this for a long time now. We just weren't meant to be together, at least not as anything more than business acquaintances—or maybe friends. But not more than that."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I want to keep singing with the band, performing wherever we can. That hasn't changed. Music means a lot to me…and I would like to remain a part of _Hard Times_, but if it doesn't work out…well…I guess we'll think about that then. That is, if you still want me around. You are the one responsible for this band."

Tim pulled the van to a stop, waiting to go through the checkpoint. "I don't know, Rose. I liked being with you. I really did. But if you think that the best thing to do is break things off, and try to work as professionals together…I guess we can try it. Whatever I feel, audiences love you. You have a great voice and can really get their attention, better than the rest of us. You might just be a star someday."

"Well, then…that's it, I guess. Let's not make too much of a fuss about it around everyone else…they'll figure it out soon enough. It's been fun, Tim…but we both need something else."

"Sure." He tried to sound cool and casual, but Rose knew that she had hurt him. She had never meant to, but some things just couldn't be avoided. It was yet another lesson to be learned, and learned well.


	23. The Wayfaring Stranger 22

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Two

_November 16, 2003  
Tijuana, Mexico_

Rose peeked out at the nightclub stage, adjusting her low-cut top and straining to see how many people were in the nightclub. It sounded like there was quite a crowd, a rumble of voices with the occasional louder voice shouting or shrieking in English or Spanish, or the combination known as Spanglish.

She jumped as Daffodil came up and tapped her on the shoulder. Whirling around, she let the stained curtain fall back, hiding the audience from view. "What's going on?"

"I hope you're ready to sing solo. Tim's got that cough again."

Rose sighed. Tim had suffered from a severe cough off and on since she had met him, occasionally coughing so hard that he spit blood. He was thinner than he should have been, and seemed to catch every cold and other ailment that went around. It was part of why she had put off breaking up with him so long—she was concerned about his health, and worried that breaking things off would make it worse.

"Any chance that he'll be able to sing, do you think?" she asked, watching as Daffodil washed her hands. With their chronic lack of money, Daffodil was the closest thing to a doctor that they had, and her medical knowledge came more from observation and casual interest than from formal training.

"Not unless this audience wants to watch him spit blood. I think you'd better keep your distance from him for a while, Rose, until this clears up. It shows all the symptoms of tuberculosis, probably picked up in one these dumps. If it is, he's contagious."

"Don't worry about me. We split up this afternoon, while the rest of you were sleeping in the back of the van."

"Nevertheless, when we get back to the United States, I think both of you should go to a county hospital and get a TB test, and maybe some others, too."

"Why?"

"If he has TB, you might have it, too, and if he has something else, you might have also caught that."

"What do you mean?"

"Hasn't it struck you as odd that he gets sick so much, and the rest of us don't? It's not like he works in a medical facility, where he would be exposed to things like that. Did you ever ask him about his…history…before you got involved with him?"

"His history? What do you mean—oh…oh, shit…no, I never thought to." She put her head in her hands. "Oh, my God…I am so stupid. You'd think I'd know better. After all, my father died of AIDS." She stopped, her face paling. "You…you don't think Tim could have AIDS, do you?"

"I hope not, but…it isn't normal to catch everything that you're exposed to, you know. And TB, if he has it, occurs more often in people with compromised immune systems."

"Oh, my God…" Rose didn't know else what to say.

"I assume you were smart enough to use protection?"

"Of course. I didn't want to get pregnant. I just didn't think about anything else happening."

"Well, condoms protect against both pregnancy and disease, if used every time…"

"It was every time. I didn't want to take any chances."

"Well, that's good. You're kind of naïve, but you're learning more every day." She looked at Rose's pale face. "Relax, Rose. With the kinds of places Tim frequents, it wouldn't be surprising if he caught TB or something—even without a compromised immune system. Plenty of otherwise healthy people in Third World countries catch it just because they're exposed to it. And he does smoke heavily, and let himself get run down—that might be all it is. After all, I'm not really a doctor, and I don't have any equipment to test things, or much medicine to treat symptoms. Herbs and over-the-counter drugs only go so far, and you can't trust street drugs to be what they're supposed to be…even when they're good for treating something."

"I know, but…hell, how am I supposed to perform tonight? I'm a nervous wreck now!"

"You'll do it, like you have every other night. Even if he does have AIDS or something, you were smart enough to use condoms, which greatly reduce your risk of catching it."

"I can't believe I was so stupid."

"You won't be so trusting again."

"I thought I'd learned not to trust people implicitly, after…what I'd been through before."

Daffodil raised an eyebrow, but didn't question her as Angel came up to them. "Five minutes, people. Get your makeup on."

"Come on, Rose." Daffodil pulled her toward the rickety table where they had set up their makeup. "We've got a show to put on."

* * *

In spite of her nerves, Rose began to relax once she was on stage. She had always enjoyed performing, even when she was in high school. The crowd was loud and appreciative, better than many audiences had been over the months since she had joined the band. A few people even sang along when she launched into a Spanish song she had learned.

It wasn't until halfway through the show that things began to go wrong. Angel was at the front of the stage, shouting in Spanish and getting the crowd excited, when something he said set off some people standing near the stage.

Rose had no idea what he had said, but in minutes the mood of the crowd had turned ugly. A half-filled bottle of beer flew towards the stage, narrowly missing Jim, and within moments more objects were flying. Angel threw a bottle back at the crowd, splattering them with beer, and then fled toward the back area, shoving Rose along as she stood frozen, watching the mob with shocked fascination.

Once backstage, the four of them grabbed their belongings and shoved them into bags and pockets. Daffodil yanked Tim to his feet as he got up slowly, drowsy from the cough syrup she had given him earlier.

They could hear the manager trying to calm the crowd, who sounded as though they were rushing the stage. A moment later, he rushed into the back, locking the door behind him as someone began banging on it.

"Get out of here!" he shouted. "I don't what you said, but that mob is ready to kill!"

The members of _Hard Times_ didn't need to be told twice. Their hands full of their equipment and belongings, they rushed out the back door, heading for the van as someone saw them and alerted the mob to where they were going.

"What in the hell did you say out there?" Rose demanded, running beside Angel and jumping into the van as Jim grabbed the keys from Tim and started the engine.

"I said all illegal immigrants should be taken out and shot."

"What the hell did you say a stupid thing like that for? And so close to the border, too!"

"I was just joking around."

"Obviously, somebody didn't think it was a joke!" She leaned forward to Jim, who was trying to steer the van safely through the parking lot. "Forget safety! Get us out of here before they catch up! They'll move out of the way!"

He put his foot on the gas, jerking the van forward and away from the crowd, narrowly missing a group of terrified-looking teenagers trying to avoid the mob.

"Which way?" Jim asked, directing the van down the street and away from the angry crowd.

"North!" Daffodil demanded. "We're not far from the border! Get us to the Border Patrol! They won't follow us there!" She turned and gave Angel the evil eye. "And if they do catch up to us, we'll throw them Angel. What a stupid thing to say—and his own mother came here illegally."

"It was a joke!" Angel protested, not sure whether Daffodil was serious or not. He could never quite tell with her.

"It wasn't funny." Rose glowered at him.

"Just leave the comedy to me, okay? I've pissed people off, but nobody ever started a riot over something I said." Daffodil looked out the back window, wondering if any of the other cars on the road were following them. "And you've ruined any chance we have of getting other gigs in Tijuana."

"Like I said, it was just a—"

"Joke. We know. And it was about as funny as…as…" Rose's eyes fell on Tim. "As tuberculosis."

At that moment, Tim stirred, sitting up. "What joke?" He coughed. "Who's got TB?"

Rose turned Tim's head so he was facing Angel. "Cough on him. He almost got us killed."

"What?" Tim was still loopy from the cough syrup, and maybe something else, though Daffodil's look told Rose that she hadn't given him anything extra.

"Angel thinks he's a comedian. He isn't," Rose informed him sourly, wishing at the moment that she had never joined the band. Between Tim's illness and general obnoxiousness—plus her fear that she had caught something from him—Jim's five-finger discounts, Angel's not-so-funny sense of humor, and Daffodil's unlicensed "medical practice," her fellow band members were beginning to seem like more trouble than they were worth.

"We're almost to the border," Jim announced. "Get your ID's ready."

They showed their various driver's licenses and passports to the border guard and he waved them through. As they crossed the border, Rose pushed the now-sleeping Tim's head off her shoulder and turned to look out the back window, hoping that if anyone was following them, they wouldn't be able to cross the border. If someone did catch up to them and try to do them harm over Angel's remark, she had every intent of ditching the others—except maybe Daffodil—and disappearing before she could get into more trouble.

Sometimes, it seemed like trouble followed her wherever she went.


	24. The Wayfaring Stranger 23

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Three

_November 17, 2003  
San Diego, California_

Rose sat in a hard, narrow chair in the waiting room of the county clinic, pointedly ignoring Tim as he tried to talk to her. Daffodil had made her suspicions known to Tim the night before, and, despite Tim's insistence that there was nothing to worry about, Daffodil and Rose had dragged him to one of the county-run health clinics in the city.

Now, as Tim bent forward, coughing hard into a tissue, Rose became more and more convinced that Daffodil was right—something was wrong with him. She could only hope that whatever it was hadn't been passed on to her or anyone else.

It was several hours before anyone saw them, a typical wait in the overburdened county facility. The nurse who called them back looked with contempt at both of their information packets—neither had listed a permanent address or a phone number. Rose supposed that Tim could have used his parents' address in Texas, but that might have made him ineligible for services in California, especially since AIDS and TB tests weren't emergency procedures. She herself could have used her mother's address in Masline, but that would have told Ruth that Rose was alive and well, and she might have found some pretext to bring her daughter home—something that Rose wasn't ready for. She wondered if she would ever be ready.

As they talked to a doctor and had blood drawn and TB skin tests administered, Rose thought about Masline and the people she had left behind. It would be so easy to go there—it was only sixty miles away, and in the van or by bus, or even on foot, it wouldn't take her long to get there. She could see Tommy, Helga, and Sophie, perhaps even let her mother know that she was all right. She wondered if Ruth thought her dead, or if she perhaps suspected, in some way, that Rose had simply chosen to disappear.

It was tempting, very tempting. It would be a few days before the test results were in, and she could easily go to Masline and return in that time. Then, if it turned out that something was wrong, she would have the support of her friends, and maybe even her mother.

But Rose also knew that if she returned to Masline, she would be hard-pressed to keep quiet on how Jack had died. She didn't know what the autopsy results had been, but she knew that there was a strong possibility that homicide was suspected. A bullet wound to the back wasn't natural, and was unlikely to be considered self-inflicted.

Jack's friends would undoubtedly want to know who had killed him—and she might not be able to pretend ignorance if they asked her. They knew that she and Jack had gone out together before the earthquake, and that was the last time any of them had seen him alive. Her own disappearance would only add to their suspicion that she knew something, although she doubted that they would hold her responsible.

She could go to them, tell them what she knew…but then her deal with Cal would be null and void. He might be convicted of murder—but if he wasn't, he would be able to come after her again, and either way, the freedom she had found would be gone. Her mother would pull her back, pushing her back into college to study whatever Ruth deemed appropriate—with no money and no home of her own, Rose would have no say in the matter. She would be bound to her old life again, to a world that valued money and the material symbols of wealth above all else, to a world that seldom looked beyond its own boundaries until forced to do so.

Even if she went to live with Tommy, she would have to give up the freedom she had come to cherish. She loved her friends dearly, but they would never understand her need to roam, to see and experience everything possible. She couldn't tie herself down to a home and a job and continue to live as she did. Perhaps one day such a life would appeal to her again, but not now. She was seeing the country as Jack had seen it, living by her wits and her talents from day to day, answering to no one and with no one to depend upon her.

No, she couldn't go back, not even for a visit. It was too soon, the emotional wounds too raw, for her to see those she had left behind. She would have to find a place to stay, and she feared what Cal might do if she returned. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing him, or of seeing Jack's grave, if indeed he was buried in Masline. There were others, too, who might be buried there, and she couldn't face those silent graves, either.

She would stay where she was, in San Diego, until the test results were ready, and then leave with the band, going wherever they went, until she felt that it was finally time to move on.

* * *

It was over a week before the test results were ready, partly because TB skin tests naturally took that long to show results, and partly because of the backlog of cases that the cash-strapped facility had to deal with. In the meantime, the band looked for work, succeeding in booking two gigs. After spending the first three nights camped out in a vacant lot, huddling together for warmth and safety, they at last were able to afford to stay in a cheap motel—not the fanciest lodgings, but warmer and safer than a garbage-strewn lot.

On November twenty-sixth, the day before Thanksgiving, Rose and Tim returned to the county medical facility to learn the results of their tests. They sat together silently in the waiting room, each lost in their own thoughts, hoping that everything was all right, but fearing that it wasn't.

Rose couldn't stop berating herself. _I am so dumb,_ she thought, her hands clenching the arms of her chair. _I left Masline to find my own life, and what do I do? Jump into bed with a man I hardly know, who I have no strong feelings for, a man who might have AIDS, and who might have passed it along to me. I thought I'd learned so much in the year I spent as Cal's fiancée, but the first chance I got, I did something else that was stupid. I guess it's all a part of learning, but this is too high a price to pay for new experiences. It seems like the more I learn, the less I know._

_Jack, what did you ever see in me? Did you recognize how dumb I can be? Of course, you were with me through half of that awful year with Cal, and you saw how quick I was to believe that you had stolen my engagement ring. I might have helped cause your death, too, by listening to you when you said that it was almost morning and there would be rescue crews out soon. If only I hadn't listened, and had done something to get us out of there, you might still be alive. I should have learned from those experiences, but I've gone right on making mistakes, even if they are new ones. Will I ever wise up? Learning is all well and good, but some lessons are too painful to be learned the hard way. I just hope this isn't one of them. I want to see you again, Jack, but not like this. I want to live first._

"Rose DeWitt-Bukater? Tim Myers?"

They looked up as a nurse beckoned to them from the doorway leading into the treatment area. Glancing at each other in trepidation, they went into the back, following her to an examination room.

"Sit down, both of you." Opening their charts, she quickly and efficiently checked their TB tests, shaking her head when she saw Tim's. After writing the results in the charts, she told them, "The doctor will be with you in a moment."

Rose glanced worriedly at Tim. For all that they hadn't gotten along as a couple, she still cared for him as a friend, and the nurse's expression hadn't been encouraging. Looking at Tim's arm, she noticed the differences between their TB tests. Hers was almost healed, while his had developed bubble-like lesions around it. Remembering what they had been told when the tests were administered, she suspected that his was positive for tuberculosis.

The doctor arrived about ten minutes later. Ushering them into his office, he sat behind his desk, while Rose and Tim took seats across from him, looking at him warily. They could tell from his countenance that the news wasn't good.

He looked at the charts, then turned to Rose. "Rose, I will give you your test results first."

Rose nodded, her breath catching in her throat and her heart beating wildly. This was it—the moment in which she would learn whether she was healthy or sick, whether she could expect to live for many more years, or only a few.

"Both of your tests, for tuberculosis and AIDS, are negative. You show every sign of being healthy."

Rose's breath came out in a whoosh; she hadn't realized she had been holding it. "Thank God," she murmured, leaning back in her chair, relief rushing through her. Then, she looked at Tim, her brow furrowing in concern. If the doctor's grim face wasn't about her, then it must be about Tim.

"Tim…your test results were both positive. I recommend another AIDS test to rule out a false positive, and a chest X-ray will be required to determine whether you actually have tuberculosis, or have only been exposed to it. Exposure can cause a positive TB test," he explained, at Tim's confused look.

He nodded, his expression sad but not surprised. Daffodil's hunches were often correct, and she had been proven right again. "Okay. Can I get those done right now, or will I have to wait?"

"I'll send you to the lab and to radiology right away. Come back here when you're done so that I can go over the chest X-ray with you." He wrote up the test order, handing it to Tim. "You already know where the lab is. Radiology is just down the hall from there."

Tim nodded dully, taking the papers as the doctor stood and left the office, heading for an examination room to see another patient. Rose turned to Tim, a horrified expression on her face.

"Oh, Tim!" She threw her arms around his neck, forgetting for the moment that she had been angry with him.

"It's okay, Rose. I'm really not surprised."

She sighed. "Neither am I. Daffodil is a good doctor, even without a medical degree. Still…" She looked at the papers in his hand. "Maybe both she and the tests were wrong. You'd better go and get the new blood test and the X-ray done, before there are too many more people ahead of you." She paused, hugging him tighter. "I'll wait for you in the waiting room, okay? You can get the doctor's opinion, and then you can talk to Daffodil, if you really have TB. Sometimes she knows things that most doctors don't."

"Sure." Tim gently disentangled Rose's arms from around his neck. "We'll do that." He walked a few steps, then turned back to her. "I'm sorry, Rose."

He strode out the door, the papers in his hand, leaving her to wonder what he had meant by his apology.


	25. The Wayfaring Stranger 24

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Four

Following Tim's diagnosis—the second blood test and the X-ray had confirmed what the original tests had indicated—the band left California and headed back into Arizona. Daffodil felt strongly that Tim should stay in California, find a place to live, and undergo treatment, but he refused, saying that if he was going to die, he was going to finish out his life as he had lived before. A settled life had never appealed to Tim.

Daffodil knew that the tuberculosis, at least, was curable, and that it could take years for a person to die from AIDS, especially if it was treated, but that made no difference. Tim was determined to live out the rest of his life as he wanted, regardless of what anyone else's opinion was. Neither Daffodil nor any of the others could change his mind.

In a way, Rose respected his decision to go on with life as though nothing had changed, to make his own decisions about his life—even if those decisions ended up shortening it. She wondered if she herself would have so much courage under similar circumstances, but knew that she wouldn't know unless she was faced with such adversity.

Their relationship would never be the same, although she had warmed enough to him again to be his friend. She began assisting Daffodil in her treatment of whatever illnesses and injuries befell the members of the group, and learned quickly. It wasn't her favorite thing to do—she doubted that she would make a very good nurse or doctor, but she did learn enough to be of help, and to take care of herself if she needed to.

Her zest for life, so recently realized in the aftermath of the Masline earthquake, had not altered, but after this latest close call, she had learned more caution. It did no good to live each moment to its fullest if what she did threatened her life unnecessarily. Much of the fear and naivety she had once carried with her had disappeared, replaced by experience and a willingness to live life to the fullest, without compromising whatever the future might bring.

As the weeks passed, and the band moved from gig to gig throughout the state, Rose continued to sing with them, taking the lead more and more often as Tim's tuberculosis progressed. Though untrained, her voice was beautiful, soaring through the crowded buildings they sang in, catching the attention even of people determined to ignore them.

_Hard Times_ gave a small outdoor concert in Phoenix just before Christmas, with everyone, even Tim, participating. For the rest of the winter, they rarely lacked for work, but the already-present creative differences increased, especially as Tim began working more and more behind the scenes, rather than taking part in the whole creative life of the band. He still tried to direct the band's work, but as the others grew more independent of him, the conflicts grew.


	26. The Wayfaring Stranger 25

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Five

_March 28, 2004_

"You what?"

Rose looked at Daffodil lazily, displaying the contents of her wallet. The band was on its way out of Arizona, heading northeast to a gig in Chicago, and Rose couldn't wait to show Daffodil what she had done.

"I changed my name."

"Why? What's wrong with Rose DeWitt-Bukater?"

"I'm trying to make a break with my past. I have a new ID, social security card, everything."

"How much of it is legal?"

Rose grinned. "Now, that would be telling. Suffice it to say, there's still a Rose DeWitt-Bukater listed, but she isn't doing much anymore."

"What did you do? Kill someone?"

Rose jerked, startled, but kept her calm façade. "No, I didn't kill anyone. I know someone who killed someone else, though."

"Are you hiding from them?"

"I've been hiding from them and everyone associated with them for almost a year now."

"So why are you changing your name now?"

"It seemed like a good idea to keep myself hidden, and anyway, I didn't know how before."

"Ah…yes, that usually makes a difference. So, your new name is…Rose Marie Dawson? Where did you get that? Did you steal someone's identity?" Daffodil looked at her disapprovingly.

Rose gave her a dirty look. "I didn't steal anyone's identity! Rose Marie is my real name, and Dawson…is someone I used to know. I didn't steal an identity…I just sort of borrowed a name." She had, on rare occasions, mentioned Jack to Daffodil, but never his last name.

"How can you be sure this person you used to know won't take offense at your 'borrowing' their name?"

"I know. Trust me, I know. Nothing can offend them now."

"This wouldn't happen to be the last name of your late boyfriend Jack, would it?"

Rose turned to glare at her. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"I knew I was right."

"Shut up!" Rose hissed. "Don't tell anyone. Sometimes you're too smart for your own good."

"I know." Daffodil smiled lazily, leaning back in her seat beside Rose. "That's what makes me so special."

"I'm serious, Daffodil. Keep your mouth shut. I don't want anyone to know."

"You really think the rest of them won't noticed that you changed your last name?"

"Not if I say that it's my new stage name."

Daffodil gave Rose an odd look, then patted her on the head.

"Don't!" Rose quickly smoothed her hair, though it hadn't been mussed in the first place.

"You really are weird."

Rose gave Daffodil an offended look. "Almost as weird as you."

"No way, Rose. No one comes close to being as weird as me." Daffodil let the insult pass.

"I have already left records of myself in California from after I left, in the county that I came from. I need to make sure that no one traces me."

"Has anyone tried to follow you before?"

"Not that I know of, but still…"

"Paranoia, delusions of being someone else…" Daffodil ticked off the symptoms, not bothering to hide her amusement.

"I'm not crazy!"

Everyone turned to look at her except Tim, who was driving again. "What's wrong, Rose? Is Daffodil picking on you again?" Jim asked. "Daffodil, what did you do to her? I knew something was up when you two started whispering."

"Nothing at all." Rose stuffed her new IDs back into her wallet.

"Nothing to concern you." Daffodil grinned at Jim, then gave him a shove when he leaned closer to listen in on them.

"Knock it off back there. I'm trying to drive." Tim's voice, hoarse from his latest episode of coughing, came back to them.

"Why don't you let me drive, Tim? You sound like you could use a rest."

"I can do it myself, Rose." Tim's voice was cool.

"Whatever." Rose sat back, stuffing her wallet into her purse. The band had grown more and more at odds with each other over the winter, each person having their own ideas about what music they should perform and how they should go about doing so, with the band splitting up into separate entities—Tim, who resented the fact that he no longer had the control he once had; Angel and Jim, who had threatened to go out on their own; and Rose and Daffodil, whose taste in music was far from popular, even if it did entertain people.

Rose was sorry to see the old camaraderie disappear, but the creative differences amongst the band members were proving divisive, though not as divisive as Tim's resentment. Once, he had been the stabilizing force amongst the members of _Hard Times_, but as he grew weaker, the others were asserting themselves more, with their own conflicting ideas about what to do and where to go. Rose suspected that if they couldn't reach some kind of consensus soon, Chicago would be the end, or near the end, of the band.


	27. The Wayfaring Stranger 26

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Six

_May 15, 2004_

Much to Rose's surprise, _Hard Times_ managed to pull together enough while performing in Chicago to get themselves several other gigs. Tim's resentment of the fact that the others were growing more independent of him had lessened, especially when they agreed to let him be their manager, even if he didn't often perform anymore. He had more contacts than any of the rest of them, knew more people, and thus was able to get them more singing engagements than they would have gotten otherwise.

Still, early in May they decided to move on. Chicago was a lively, teeming city, with plenty of people with an appreciation of music, but the competition was stiffer there than in smaller towns, and the band, comprised as it was of untrained performers without an agent, often couldn't compete. At Tim's advice, they made their last performance in Chicago on May thirteenth, and then moved on.

Tim had called around, looking for other places where they might work, and had finally booked a gig with an acquaintance who owned a bar in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

Rose had initially been leery of Tim's decision to send _Hard Times_ to Chippewa Falls, but she hadn't told him so. Chippewa Falls had been Jack's hometown, and a place that she wasn't sure she was ready to face, but Tim knew nothing of this. She had never told him about Jack, or much of anything about her past before joining the band.

Rose soon came to regard the move with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She would see the town where Jack had grown up—at least, where he had spent his first fifteen years—and perhaps meet some of the people that he had known, though she wasn't sure that she could bring herself to mention him, nor did she know how she would react if someone else spoke of him. Would she talk about him then? Or would she pretend to have never known him, in order to protect herself from the pain she still carried inside over his death, though it had been more than a year?

She honestly didn't know. She wanted to see the town Jack had grown up in, see the places that he had mentioned to her—if they still existed. In her experience, old things were torn down so often that a place could become unrecognizable.

He had mentioned that he had an uncle and some cousins in Chippewa Falls; if they were still there, she thought she might try to find them. She didn't know if they were unaware that Jack was dead, or if Jack's friends in Masline had informed them of that fact. If she did find his relatives and told them about Jack's death, would she be able to keep silent about exactly how he had died? She had promised Cal that she would keep her silence in exchange for his never seeing her again, but could she lie to the family of the man she had loved?

* * *

The band arrived in Chippewa Falls just after noon on May fifteenth, giving them several hours before they were scheduled to begin performing at seven o'clock. After checking into the cheapest motel they could find, they went to the bar to find out the details of that night's performance and to practice.

There was no real stage, but that was not unusual for them. After establishing that they would be singing in the front corner of the room opposite the door, they set up their performance area, did what blocking was needed, and practiced for an hour, squabbling amongst themselves as they did, something that had become far too common over the past few months.

There weren't many patrons in the bar in the early afternoon, but those who were there either ignored them, too caught up in their own thoughts to pay much attention to the quarreling band members, or watched them with interest, entertained more by the conflict than by the music they were practicing. After Rose and Tim got into a particularly vociferous shouting match, one man began to take bets on whether the band would actually show up that night.

By the time they finished rehearsing, Rose was ready for a break. She had slowly but surely become _Hard Times_' lead singer, but that didn't mean that people argued any less with her than with anyone else. Daffodil had finally stepped into the argument between Rose and Tim about what she should sing, saying that shouting wasn't good for her voice and that she and Tim should compromise. Both Rose and Tim had yelled at her for interfering, but in her usual manner, Daffodil had ignored them and simply stared them down until they agreed on a compromise.

Now, though, Rose wanted to be away from her fellow band members for a while, even Daffodil. Arriving in Chippewa Falls had rattled her emotions more than she cared to admit, and she wanted to be alone.

Looking at the other members of the band, who were lounging around the bar or hanging around outside of it, she sought out Daffodil.

"I'm going for a walk," she told her, gesturing to the door.

"Where are you going?"

Rose shrugged. "I don't know. I just want to see what's around here."

Daffodil nodded. It was Rose's custom to explore every place they went, a part of what she called making life count.

"Just remember that we're performing at seven."

"I'll be back before then. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. I know that you'll be back. Tim, however, might not be so happy."

"So?" Rose frowned in Tim's direction. "He doesn't own me. He's not even really my boss. If he doesn't like it, he can find someone else to sing. I can take care of myself."

"Undoubtedly, but…Rose, maybe you two should try not to fight so much. It isn't good for you or the band."

"I'm quite willing to keep the peace. He's the one who has to go throwing his weight around—what little there is of it these days. Anyway, he can't stop me. We're done rehearsing, and when we're not rehearsing or performing, I can do as I please. You're the peacemaker. Maybe you should talk to him."

Daffodil looked at her, a little sheepishly. "I tried. He told me to go away and mind my own business."

Rose sighed. "He's a control freak."

"Sort of, I guess. You and he have a power struggle going on, he's arguing with Jim and Angel, who are arguing with us, who argue with Tim and them…and round and round it goes."

"I'm worried about the future of this band," Rose told her, expressing her concerns aloud for the first time. "I think we're going to split up if can't agree on things more often."

"I hate to say it, but I think you're right. What will you do if it does split apart?"

"I don't know. Strike out on my own again, I guess."

"I hope you don't mind if I tag along, at least for a while. Jim and Angel are fun, but they're headed for trouble, especially if Jim continues with his 'five-finger discounts', and Tim—well—aside from his being a control freak, as you call him, he's not in good health. I think if the band splits apart, he might go home to Texas to finish out his life, however long that is."

"Yeah." Rose looked at Tim, who sat at a table with a beer, pointedly ignoring her. She shook her head sadly. Although they didn't often get along anymore, they had once been lovers, and were sometimes still friends. She had watched her father die from AIDS four years earlier, and it wasn't a death she would wish on anyone, no matter how hard they were to get along with.

Looking out at the street, she said, "Of course you can come with me if the band splits up. Or I'll go along with you, whichever seems better."

"We'll work it out when it happens."

"_If_ it happens."

"It will, Rose. Mark my words. But we'll stick together as long as we can."

Rose sighed. "I'm not even going to try to predict the future, Daffodil. I've found that things rarely happen exactly as I thought they would." She opened the door and stepped out into the May sunshine. "I'll see you in a few hours. I'll be back by six, and if Tim has any complaints, he can take them up with me when I get back."

That said, she headed out to see Chippewa Falls.


	28. The Wayfaring Stranger 27

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rose walked slowly along the streets of Chippewa Falls, hands thrust into her pockets as she looked at the town where Jack had grown up. It wasn't so different from many small towns she had seen, but what made this one different, and somehow special, was its connection to Jack.

This was the town that he had grown up in, the town that his parents had died in. As far as she knew, he had never been back to Chippewa Falls after being sent to the first of several foster homes in other towns.

She paused, taking off her jacket and tying it around her waist. The May sunlight was warmer than she had expected so far north, making the jacket unnecessary. Rose lifted her face toward the sun, breathing deeply in the spring air.

Resuming her walk, she strolled through the downtown area, wondering which of these places Jack had been to, and which had been built after he had left almost eight years ago. A lot of the buildings looked old, as thought they had been there for a long time. After stopping at a charming-looking ice cream shop, Rose continued her way through town, occasionally stopping to window shop or to admire an old brick building—something she hadn't seen much of in California, especially after the earthquake. It took a seismically sound area to support such structures.

As she walked, Rose looked with interest at advertisements for different attractions in the town—the Leinenkugel Brewing Company, the Area History Center, and especially the Heyde Center for the Arts, the advertisement for which promised live theater, musical performances, art shows, and dance programs. She paused, looking more closely at the flyer, wondering if any of Jack's work had ever been displayed there.

She didn't know how long they would be in Chippewa Falls—it would depend upon the crowd's reaction to their performance that night. If they could get more gigs here, they might stay for a while, giving her a chance to see some of the attractions advertised. If nothing else, she promised herself, she would take one of the self-guided historical tours she had seen advertised with other tourist attractions. She enjoyed walking around the town, but she didn't know the history of any of it, and for some reason it was important to her to know it.

Turning a corner, Rose found herself walking toward Duncan Creek. She stopped to admire the extravagant flower gardens and took note of the trail signs, reminding herself to bring Daffodil here if they stayed long enough. It was definitely a place she would appreciate.

Making her way toward the water, Rose stopped, looking down at the flowing creek. Some of the area looked familiar—Jack had made some drawings of his hometown, and had shown them to her. She suppressed a sudden feeling of sadness, wishing that he had lived long enough to draw more, to accompany her to this town. _What fun it would have been,_ she thought, _to have him for a tour guide_.

Untying her jacket and spreading it out on the ground, she sat down, gazing at the water. It was different from California, that was for sure. She wondered what Jack had thought after he left Wisconsin and eventually made his way to California. Had he compared the places he had been, finding one more favorable than the other? Or had he looked at the world as she did—a place full of fascinating possibilities, each new place offering new opportunities for…something.

Sighing to herself, Rose leaned forward, gazing at the sparkling water rushing by. She had made him a promise that awful night, a promise that she would go on and never give up on life. She thought she was doing an admirable job of keeping that promise—usually—but sometimes she wondered just where she was heading, and where she would end up.

It didn't do much good to speculate—whatever happened, happened, as she had learned in a time that seemed long past, and yet was only a little over a year ago. But it sometimes seemed to her that, no matter where she went or how many people surrounded her, she was making her way alone.

Life wasn't something to be waited for, some grand event occurring sometime in the future. Life was what a person lived, every minute of every day, and she was trying to make the most of hers. And whether her life was filled with other people, or was, as she had sung on that morning long ago, a journey of one, it was her life to live, every moment of every day. It was Jack's gift to her, this knowledge, and she wouldn't waste it. In spite of the mistakes she had made, she didn't regret a moment of this new life.

Glancing at her watch, Rose realized that she needed to start back. It was so peaceful beside the creek that she almost didn't want to go back to the contentious, bickering members of her band, but she needed to. She could come back here another time.

As she moved to get up, Rose became aware of the feeling that someone was watching her. Turning her head cautiously, she caught sight of a young blonde girl with bright green fingernails working industriously over a sketchbook, eyeing her the whole time.


	29. The Wayfaring Stranger 28

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Eight

_May 15, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

Rose just stood there for a moment, staring back at the teenager. What did she want? Why was she watching her? Was she some sort of an artist?

The girl frowned, putting some finishing touches on her drawing, then stood up, lifting her chin as Rose continued to stare at her.

Rose finally found her voice. "Excuse me, but…what are you doing? Were you drawing me or something?"

"Yeah. You looked so…pensive, and besides, you look familiar for some reason. You were the perfect subject."

Rose felt a stab of pain inside, remembering the last time someone had drawn her portrait, but gave no indication of what she was feeling. Instead, she raised her chin, asking, "And was I a perfect subject?"

The girl had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, you were, actually. You sat still the whole time, even though you didn't know you were being sketched." She shrugged. "Sorry. I hope you're not offended. You can have the drawing if you want," she added.

Rose took the sketchbook, looking at the picture, her eyes widening. The girl had captured her to the life. She could almost see what she had been feeling as she sat there, lost in thought.

She had only met one other person who could draw like that, although this artist wasn't quite as skilled. She looked at the girl again, taking in her blonde hair and blue eyes, judging her age to be somewhere in her early to mid-teens.

An idea began to form in her mind. This had been Jack's hometown, the place where he had grown up. It was entirely possible that he had relatives here—and the girl did resemble him, although she was a bit younger. Jack would have been almost twenty-three if he had lived. Perhaps she was a cousin, and even if she wasn't, she might have known Jack through their mutual interest in art.

"It…it's great," Rose told her, careful not to smudge the lines of the drawing. Taking a deep breath, she asked, "What's your name?"

"Emmaline."

"Emmaline what?"

"Dawson."

She was a Dawson, but that didn't prove anything. There were many Dawsons in the world, including herself since she had changed her last name.

Casually, trying not to betray just how interested she was, Rose asked, "Did you know a young man named Jack?"

Emmaline's eyes lit up. "He's my cousin! Where do you know him from?"

Rose hesitated. "California."

"Yeah, that's where he was living when I last heard from him. That was more than a year ago, though." Her eyes widened. "That's why you look so familiar! He e-mailed a picture from his friend Fabrizio's wedding. He was the best man and you were one of the bridesmaids! Is he with you?"

Rose shook her head, feeling her heart clench, both from her own grief and from the realization that no one had informed Emmaline of Jack's death. "No, Emmaline. He…he isn't."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "What's your name?"

"Rose." She hesitated. "Rose Dawson."

"Dawson? Did you marry Jack?"

Rose shook her head, struggling to maintain her composure. "No. I…I took his name just a short while ago…to honor him. He…he's dead, Emmaline."

The girl's face, which had been so animated a moment before, whitened with shock. "No…no, he isn't. He can't be. He's too young!"

"He is, Emmaline. I'm sorry." Rose turned away, trying to hide the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.

Emmaline grabbed her shoulder, whirling her back around. "When? What happened? You'd better tell me!"

"He died on May 5, 2003." Even now, saying the words was almost more than Rose could bear.

"How? Was it the earthquake?"

"No…not quite."

"Not quite? How did the earthquake not quite kill him? How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I wouldn't lie about something like this, Emmaline. I loved him."

"Then what happened?"

Rose wrapped her arms around her shoulders, her eyes distant as she told the full story of Jack's death for the first time. She had told parts of it to others—to Cal, when he had come looking for her, and to Daffodil—but never the whole story. But she felt that Emmaline had a right to know.

"He was murdered, Emmaline." At the girl's shocked gasp, she went on, trying not to cry. "I…I was engaged to another man when I met Jack—a man who was very jealous and controlling. At first, nothing happened…between Jack and I. We were friends…but nothing more. My fiancé didn't believe that, though, and as time went on…he got more and more jealous, more and more violent. Finally, I decided to break things off with him. I went to Jack, and we…spent a wonderful afternoon and evening together. Later, when we were out having dinner, my fiancé found us and confronted me. I gave him back his engagement ring, which only infuriated him more. As Jack and I were leaving, C—my fiancé slipped the ring into Jack's pocket, then proceeded to insult me. Jack hit him, and before I knew it, they were in an all-out fight, right there in the parking lot. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't stop.

"Of course, the police were called, and after they broke up the fight, my fiancé told them that the ring had been stolen, and they searched Jack's pockets. Of course, they found it, and Jack was taken away to jail. I believed that Jack had stolen it at first…I knew about his criminal record…but after the earthquake, my fiancé said some things that made me realize that he had framed Jack. I went downtown to find Jack—the jail was just a few blocks away—and we escaped from the jail just as the smoke and flames of the burning town reached it.

"We headed back downtown, away from the fire—and met up with my fiancé again. He was furious that I had run off, that I had helped to free Jack from jail, although he would have died there if I hadn't. We argued, and when I walked away…he pulled a gun. Jack saw it, and pushed me in front of him to shield me from the bullets. We got across the street and took shelter between two ruined buildings—and then I realized that Jack had been shot. I tried to staunch the bleeding, but it was too heavy. When we tried to leave the shelter of the buildings, there was an aftershock and the buildings collapsed, trapping us inside their remains. We were both pinned under a fallen light pole, Jack worse than me. I tried to pull my trapped foot free…but the rubble would shift every time. I was afraid that if I moved, it would kill us both. Jack tried to reassure me that everything would be all right…but it wasn't. When morning came, and the sounds of rescuers penetrated the pile of rubble, I tried to wake Jack…but it was too late. He was already gone." She shivered, remembering the pallor of Jack's face in the morning light, the pool of congealed blood that had surrounded him, and the feeling of his hand in hers, cold and already stiffened in death.

"What was the name of your fiancé?"

"I…I can't tell you, Emmaline. There's reasons…reasons why…but I can't say what they are."

"Jack was my favorite cousin!"

"Emmaline…I'm so sorry. I loved him, too, more than you could ever know."

She put a hand on the crying girl's shoulder, trying to comfort her, then stumbled back in shock as Emmaline violently flung her hand away, giving her a shove.

"You may not have pulled the trigger…but you killed Jack just as surely as your fiancé did. If you hadn't taken up with him, your fiancé wouldn't have gotten jealous and killed him. You belong in jail just as much as he does!"

"Emmaline, I…" Rose didn't know what to say. Emmaline's words sank in, shocking her with the truth that she had always known but never acknowledged. If she hadn't fallen in love with Jack, none of this would have happened. He would still be alive and well…and she would be married to Cal and miserable. It was no more than she deserved. She was as bad as her mother, never thinking of anyone but herself…if only she'd realized just how much of a threat Cal was, Jack would still be alive.

Blinded by tears, Rose pushed past Emmaline and ran, heading back toward town.


	30. The Wayfaring Stranger 29

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Twenty-Nine

_May 15, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

Her face streaked with tears, Rose ran through the streets of Chippewa Falls. People stared at her, but she paid them no heed. She had to get away.

Away. Just like she had a year and a half earlier—but there would be no one to stop her this time.

Unconsciously, Rose headed back in the direction of the bar where the band was scheduled to perform, although she had no intention of getting up in front of anyone tonight.

When she reached it, she pushed her way inside, still ignoring the stares of the patrons and her fellow band members. Someone offered to buy her a drink, but she ignored that, too, running past everyone and into the ladies' room.

Leaning against a wall, Rose tried to regain control of herself, then slid down the wall to the floor, her shoulders heaving with sobs. She hated herself, hated her life. Why was she alive when Jack was dead? Why hadn't she tried harder to save him? If she had tried, he might still be alive, and she would be somewhere else, not singing in a smelly bar and trying to convince herself that she was doing something with her life. She didn't deserve to be alive.

"Rose?"

Rose cringed, curling up tighter and burying her face in her arms as Daffodil came into the restroom, looking at her with concern.

"Rose, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," Rose whimpered, her hands clutching her ankles like a lifeline.

Daffodil moved closer, sitting close to her. "Rose, come on. What's wrong?"

Rose just cried harder, putting her head on Daffodil's shoulder when her friend moved to comfort her. "Go away."

"No. What's going on, Rose? Did you get into trouble of some sort?"

Rose sniffed, leaning her head back against the wall. "I killed Jack."

"Wasn't that your boyfriend who died last year?"

"Yes."

"You said that you had nothing to do with his death."

"I didn't pull the trigger, but I'm just as responsible as…as the man who murdered him. If I'd stayed away from him…it wouldn't have happened. If I'd realized how badly he was hurt…I might have been able to save him. I didn't think about what I was doing. I only thought about myself. And now he's dead, and my life is pointless. I shouldn't even be alive!"

"That's crazy talk, Rose." Daffodil knelt in front of her, forcing Rose to look at her. "You have every right and reason to be alive. Bad things happen sometimes, but you have to keep on going. That's the way life is. You can't always tell where something's going to lead. If we could look ahead and see all the bad, we'd never do anything, and we'd miss all the good in life, too."

Rose shook her head vehemently, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Daffodil handed her a wad of toilet paper. "You don't understand."

"I do understand, Rose. Remember when I told you about my sister, and what happened to her? I felt horribly guilty after that, like it was my fault that she's in that wheelchair. I still think about it. Now, from what little you've told me about Jack, I think he would be proud of you. Look at all that you've done, and all that you're doing. Your life is worthwhile."

Rose shook her head. "You don't know how it was. It was just after the earthquake, and there were all these aftershocks…Jack had been framed for the theft of my engagement ring, and I went down and broke him out of jail before the flames reached it. A lot of the town burned that night, you know. Once we were away from the flames, we thought that we were safe—and then we met…the man who killed him. There was an argument, and Jack and I walked away…and then he was shot in the back. We managed to take shelter between two damaged buildings—but they collapsed when we were trying to escape. I was so afraid of having the debris cave in and kill us that I didn't try to escape then—it was morning before I dug my way out. If only I'd done it sooner, he might have lived." She wiped her eyes, going on. "I tried to save him—I even used my dress to try to stop the bleeding from the gunshot wound—but it didn't work. He bled to death."

"You did all that you could."

"I could have done more. If only I'd tried to dig us out while there was still time…"

"You both could have died."

"That would have been better."

"No, it wouldn't have. Rose…listen to me. You're alive, and you're supposed to be alive. Nothing happens without a reason. I'm sure of it. You have a lot of living to do, and he wouldn't want you to give up."

Rose raised tear-filled eyes to look at Daffodil. "Before he died, he made me promise to not give up, to go on. He said that I was going to live a long time, and have kids and everything."

"And do you really want to break your promise to him?"

"I should never have made that promise."

"But he wanted you to, and it wasn't exactly unreasonable."

Rose looked Daffodil in the eye, her mouth set. "His cousin said it's my fault he died."

Daffodil looked a little startled at her words, but quickly recovered. "His cousin?"

"Emmaline Dawson. I met her down by the creek. She was sketching me, and said that I looked familiar. Jack had sent her a picture with me in it, you see. I found out who she was, and I told her that he had died. She wanted to know how…and I told her. Then she said that it was my fault."

"Rose, people say things like that when they're upset."

"She meant it, and she was right."

"She wasn't right. Rose, look at me." Rose took a deep, shuddering breath, finally meeting Daffodil's eyes. "Rose, you didn't kill him. It was a horrible thing that happened, yes, but you didn't do it. Someone else did—your ex-fiancé, I think you said after I first found you laying at the base of that cliff. He killed Jack, Rose—not you. If you had tried to save him, you might have died, too." She put her arms around Rose, helping her to her feet. "We can talk about this later if you want, but right now we have a show to put on."

"I'm not going out there, Daffodil. Not like this."

"You were out there like that earlier."

"That was different. I don't want to get up in front of people—I might cry. You go ahead. I'm sitting this one out."

"You're our star singer."

"Not tonight, I'm not. I can't go on. Send Tim in my place."

"Tim is sleeping off some cold medicine."

"Then you go."

Daffodil hesitated. "Uh…thanks for the confidence, but I don't sing well enough."

"Well enough for a bunch of drunks!"

"Rose, come on. You need to go out there. It'll give you something else to concentrate on. You can use those emotions, too. Sing some of your sad, melancholy songs. Audiences always love those."

"I can't."

"You can." Daffodil dug into her bag. "Come on. Fix your makeup and get out there. It's so dark that no one will notice how red your eyes are."

"I could say I was drunk," Rose joked weakly, but her mouth trembled.

"You'll be fine, Rose." Daffodil hugged her. "You'll be fine."

Rose took a deep breath. "I'll try."

* * *

Still tense and unsure if she was doing the right thing, Rose stepped up to the microphone set up in a dark corner of the bar. Daffodil, Jim, and Angel had kept the audience entertained while she got ready, keeping up a steady comedy routine and singing a couple of songs. A few people quieted as they noticed Rose approach.

"Good evening," she began. "I'm sure that some of you heard that we were coming, and some of you may have even heard us before. I'm here with a new song tonight—one I haven't sung onstage before, at any rate."

There was a smattering of applause. Lifting the guitar she carried, Rose strummed a few notes, then began.

_Can you hear that lonesome whippoorwill?  
He sounds too blue to fly...  
_

Almost everyone was listening by the time she finished the song. When the last notes had died away, a few men lifted their beers to her, and tears filled her eyes. Blinking them back, she began a song that she and Daffodil had sung together almost a year ago when they had hitched a ride to Reno, Nevada.

_Done laid around, done stayed around  
This old town too long...  
_

The rest of the performance passed in a blur for Rose. She sang more songs, all of them meaning something to her, but none so meaningful as the first, and in spite of her resolve, tears ran down her face more than once as she sang out her emotions, revealing how she felt as she never had before.

* * *

The bar was closing and the band was preparing to leave for the night when Rose heard someone call to her from the doorway. Looking up, she saw Emmaline.

Surprised, Rose walked over to her. The bartender was giving them a dirty look, clearly not wanting the teenager inside the bar, so she slipped outside with her, standing in front of the blinking neon sign.

"What do you want?" Rose's voice was harsher than she intended.

"I'm sorry," Emmaline told her.

"For what?"

"For accusing you of killing Jack. I think he loved you. He didn't say it so me in so many words…but I could tell. And you loved him, too."

"Yes, I did."

Emmaline went on. "I told my dad that Jack had died—and he was glad. That stupid asshole was glad. He'd hated Jack for years, especially after he spent some time in juvenile hall. Dad thought that he was the scum of the earth, and that he should have died a long time before."

"He wasn't the scum of the earth." Rose shook her head. "He was a good, decent person. He may have had some trouble in his past, but he overcame it. He was there for me…when I needed him the most. I only wish that I could have done as much for him as he did for me."

"He e-mailed me about you several times—and he didn't have to say it for me to know that he loved you. You made him happier than he'd been in a long time."

"But I couldn't save his life."

"You tried, though. If you'd wanted him dead—you wouldn't have tried."

"No." Rose turned away. "I wouldn't have."

"I—I brought you the sketch that I made this afternoon. I made another one, too, from the picture that he sent me. I had it saved in my computer. I sketched just the two of you. I thought you might like it."

Hands shaking, Rose took the drawings from the girl. Though Emmaline wasn't yet as skilled as Jack had been, the pictures were good, especially the one drawn from the wedding photo. She and Jack stood together, smiling broadly at the camera. Tears came to her eyes as she looked at it, wondering if they would have posed for their own wedding photo, had he lived.

"They're beautiful," she told Emmaline. "You're as talented as he was."

Emmaline shook her head. "Not yet—but maybe someday. He and I both learned from our grandfather."

"He must have been very talented, too."

"He was." Emmaline paused. "Rose…would you like to see where his parents are buried? We could get some flowers, put them there in honor of them and of Jack."

Rose's fingers tightened on the edges of the drawings. "Sure. I'd like that. Maybe tomorrow? We'll be here another day."

"Would morning be okay? Around ten, maybe?"

"Sure. Where would you like me to meet you?"

"At the creek. We can walk from there."

Rose nodded, her eyes sad. "I'll meet you there." She looked up as the other members of the band came outside. "It's getting late…"

Emmaline nodded. "I'd better go home before my dad finds out I'm not there. I'll take you to the cemetery tomorrow. They've got a nice gravesite—well kept up."

Rose nodded again, carefully holding the drawings. "Thank you."

Emmaline nodded, then turned and ran down the street and around a corner. Rose fell into step with the other members of the band, still holding the drawings close. In spite of being surrounded by people, she had never felt so alone.


	31. The Wayfaring Stranger 30

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty**

_May 16, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

Rose was up early the next morning. Distraught and restless, she hadn't slept much the night before, even after Daffodil had given her some valerian capsules to calm her down. Not long after sunrise, she left the motel, wandering around the streets of the awakening town.

After breakfast, which she barely touched, Rose went down to the creek to wait for Emmaline, waiting in the same spot that she had met the girl in the day before. She had had a lot of time to think during the previous sleepless night, and she was no closer to forgiving herself for her part in Jack's death—however unintentional—than she had been the evening before.

Despite the fact that Daffodil had pointed out how little control Rose had had over what had happened, and the fact that Emmaline had apologized to her for accusing her of killing Jack, Rose couldn't forgive herself. The idea that she was responsible in some way for what had happened had lingered in her mind for over a year, but no amount of talking or logic could change how she felt. It was something that she would have to work out for herself, however long it took.

Emmaline arrived just after ten, carrying a heavy, square object in a plastic grocery bag. She stopped when she saw Rose.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she told her, clutching the bag more tightly.

"I had to come," Rose replied, standing up and brushing the dirt from her skirt. "I…I want to see where Jack's parents are buried. Maybe then…" She didn't finish the thought.

Emmaline seemed to understand, though. "Maybe you'll feel better. At least he's with them now. I remember how much he missed them after they died. I think maybe that's why he got into so much trouble." She hesitated. "Did he tell you about that?"

"Yes. He told me about being in a gang and going to juvenile hall…he was honest with me from the start."

"Yeah." Emmaline nodded her head, looking sad. "He was like that."

They walked back into town together, stopping to buy flowers at the supermarket. That done, Emmaline led the way to the cemetery, Rose walking quietly behind her, lost in thought.

When they reached the cemetery, Emmaline escorted Rose to a single, well-kept headstone with the names of Jack's parents on it. Paul and Elizabeth Dawson had died together in a fire early in the morning of July 5, 1996.

Rose stood looking at the grave for a moment, her heart clenching as she thought of how Jack must have felt, losing both of his parents at once. She had lost her father, but at least she had still had her mother, no matter how often they disagreed with one another.

"So, they were Jack's parents," Rose murmured, unwrapping her flowers and placing them on the grave. It was well-cared for, but bare. Not many people visited it anymore.

Emmaline placed her flowers on the grave as well as Rose took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the headstone. Clenching her hands tightly together, she spoke, addressing the couple buried beneath the headstone.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson…Paul and Elizabeth…whatever you liked to be called…I knew your son. We only knew each other for six months—but I loved him with all my heart. He was a good man—he was there for me in my darkest moments. Jack was someone special…there was something about him that captured my heart. I was never so happy as in the short time that we were together…and I will never forget him. I'm sorry that I didn't save him…that I didn't do more to save him. Maybe he would have lived, if only I'd tried harder. At least he's with you now. You're all back together now—maybe one day we'll all meet, when it's my time to join you. Jack loved me, too—he told me so, just before he died."

She sank to her knees, tearing running down her face. "He knew that he was dying, but he was most concerned with making sure that I survived. He made me promise to go on—and I'm trying. I really am. Jack gave me a second chance at life—and I'm trying to make the most of it."

She reached out, touching the hard, cool stone. "Please forgive me," she whispered. "I didn't mean for him to die."

Rose looked up when Emmaline touched her shoulder. The girl's face was also tear-streaked. She held out the small, square object that she had concealed in the bag. Rose took it, looking at it in surprise as she read the words carved there.

_In Loving Memory  
Jack Dawson  
1981 – 2003_

It was a small, ceramic marker, the kind that might be used in place of a plaque to memorialize someone. Emmaline took it from her and set it at the base of the headstone, digging into the soil with a stick and setting the marker firmly in the trench, making it look as though it were a part of the original headstone.

"I made it last night," she explained, "after Dad was asleep. I baked it in the oven, so it should hold up."

"It's beautiful." Rose stared at the marker. Although neither she nor Emmaline knew where Jack was buried, it seemed fitting that the marker be placed there, at his parents' grave, a memorial to a man whose life had been far too short, but always worthwhile.

She brushed a speck of dirt away from the marker, then stood slowly, still looking down at the grave. Unbidden, the memory of the song she had sung for Jack in her private memorial to him nearly a year before came to mind, and she sang out, her voice floating through the quiet cemetery.

_Darling, I'll love you  
Forever and more...  
_

She looked down at the small marker, a sob catching in her throat. Quietly, she began to sing again, Emmaline joining in with her this time.

When the last notes of the song had faded away, the two young women, almost strangers, stood together, saying good-bye to the young man who they had both loved.


	32. The Wayfaring Stranger 31

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-One

_May 16, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

The bar was already beginning to fill with people when the band arrived that evening. Word of their performance the night before had spread, and even though they were a small, unknown band, people wanted to hear them.

A tinny-sounding piano had been set up near to their performance area, but it was so out of tune that they soon decided to sing with only their guitars for accompaniment. After tuning their instruments and warming up their voices in back of the bar—a move that made the neighborhood dogs yelp and howl in misery—they were ready.

Tim insisted upon opening the show, though he looked worse than ever and coughed so much that the bartender offered him a drink, free of charge. He accepted it, but it didn't help much. The cough came from his lungs, from the tuberculosis infection, and not from his throat, where a cold drink might have helped, and the alcohol served only to make the cough harder to control.

He was fully awake and alert for a change, though, having refused to take any cough medicine or any of Daffodil's herbal preparations, and after Rose had sang a couple of songs, he wanted to participate in a group performance. The others were uneasy about the idea, but let him join them.

At first, it worked well enough. Tim was a good comedian, and he made up a routine that was actually enhanced by the cough, one that the others quickly caught on to. It was when he tried to sing, though, that the trouble started.

The first song the group sang, a collaboration by all of them, was only interrupted once by his cough, at which time Daffodil elbowed him in the ribs to warn him to stop singing, but the second song, sung by Tim, Rose, and Angel, was his downfall. The effort caused him to cough harder than ever, the sound magnified by the microphone.

Rose and Angel tried to take over, but the sound of Tim's coughing almost drowned them out, and their efforts to pull him away from the microphone were met with angry resistance. Finally, Jim came up to the microphone, and with Angel's help, he pulled Tim away while Rose announced a break.

In spite of Tim's angry protests and struggles, the four other band members managed to maneuver him out the back door and into the alley behind the bar. He tried to pull away from them, but his weakened body was no match for the strength of the rest of the band.

Daffodil confronted him, standing back far enough that he couldn't cough on her.

"I thought I told you to take that cough medicine I gave you. I even mixed in some Tylenol with codeine that I got from that dealer we met in Chicago."

"I hate that stuff. It tastes terrible, and it puts me to sleep."

"You need rest!"

"I need to be on stage! This is my band." He doubled over, coughing violently.

"You can't even talk without coughing. What makes you think you can perform?"

"I'm fine. I just needed to get something out of my lungs."

"What you need is some powerful antibiotics and some anti-AIDS medicine, but you won't listen."

"You can't tell me what to do, Daffodil."

"I'm the closest thing you have to a doctor. I most certainly can. And I'm telling you that you don't belong on that stage. You can't sing when you cough like that. All you do is make a noise that even a drunk can't stand."

"Goddammit, Daffodil—"

"Goddamn you, Tim. You're too damned sick to be here. Go back to the motel."

"Fuck you. I'm not going back until our show is over."

"I'm not working with you," Rose interjected. "You were coughing blood all over the microphone. I'm not even going to touch it. It might be infectious."

"Shut up!"

"You were coughing up blood? Tim, that's bad." Daffodil came closer, straining to see in the dark. "She's right. You were."

"It's nothing. It happens all the time. Just give me some of your herbs and I'll—" He was interrupted by another fit of coughing.

"—be fine?" Daffodil finished. She handed Tim a wad of tissues from her pocket. Watching him, she shook her head. "You need more help than I can give you. At the rate you're going this time, you'll bleed to death like one of those consumptive characters in historical novels."

Rose stared at him, the words "bleed to death" echoing in her mind. She had seen one man who had bled to death, and it was a terrible way to go. She could hardly imagine a person's final moments under such circumstances, especially if they were coughing, choking, and struggling to breathe.

"Daffodil's right, Tim," she told him, still keeping her distance. "This could kill you."

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It will eventually anyway."

"Dammit, Tim!" Rose exploded. "You are such an idiot!" Taking a deep breath, she went on. "There's a hospital here in town, St. Joseph's. I saw it while I was exploring. You're going there, _now_, if I have to hit you over the head with a beer bottle and drag you there! You can be blasé about some things, but not about your life!"

Everyone turned to stare at her, startled by her outburst. The arguments between Tim and Rose were usually mutual shouting matches, with Tim accusing Rose of trying to take over his band, and Rose screaming back that she couldn't care less about his band or anything else associated with him. This time, she sounded worried.

Tim shook his head, coughing again. Angrily, Rose moved toward him, but Daffodil stopped her, then wrestled Tim to the ground and sat on him so he couldn't get away.

"I think we'll all need TB tests when this is through, but for now, Tim, you need more help than I can give you. Jim, please go and get the van. Rose and Angel, you're the best members of the band anyway, so you can take over the performance."

Rose looked as though she was about to argue with her, but then she sighed and nodded. "We'd better do that, then, before our audience thinks we've left."

Tim tried to get up. "No, dammit! I told you, I'm—"

"—fine. Yes, we know." Daffodil refused to move. "Go ahead. I'll watch him. Tim, if you move, I swear I'll do what Rose threatened and hit you over the head with a beer bottle. It might actually improve things."

Tim started coughing again, but still managed to make a rude gesture to the other band members. Rose returned it, scowling at him, before going back inside, Angel trailing after her.

* * *

By the time Rose and Angel had returned to the corner of the bar they were using as a stage and cleaned it up, Jim had returned with the van, and he and Daffodil had dragged a no-longer-protesting Tim into it and set off in search of the hospital.

Rose tapped gingerly on the microphone, still reluctant to touch it even after it had been disinfected. Some of the bar's patrons turned to look at her.

"We apologize for the long break. As you could probably tell, one of our members had a medical emergency, and has been taken to the hospital by two other members. It'll be just Angel and me for the rest of the show, but everyone say that we're the best anyway, so you're in for a treat."

Some people laughed, although a couple of drunks at a nearby table glowered at her, angry that her speech had drowned out their conversation.

After bantering with the audience for a few more minutes, Angel and Rose launched into a duet, after which Angel stepped back, playing the guitar and letting Rose sing.

Rose had rarely had so much of the audience's attention focused only on her—the other members of the band had always been in the background, playing instruments, singing backup, dancing, and even milling around while she was singing. Angel was there, but he managed to blend so well into the dark corner that few people paid attention to him after a few minutes.

Rose sang several of the mournful songs from the night before—the lingering sadness inside her was still there, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it—and was surprised when several people sang along with her. It occurred to her that most of what she sang was probably copyrighted, and singing those songs for profit was illegal, but no one had yet objected to any of it. She shrugged off the thought. She wasn't hurting anyone, and if no one objected—or noticed—it must not be too great a crime.

Most of the people in the bar were respectful, listening to her, or at least keeping their own conversations quiet, but the drunks at the nearby table grew progressively louder. Rose and Angel weren't the only ones who noticed. A number of other patrons, and the bartender, were looking at them angrily.

Rose raised her voice to be heard above them, but they, too, grew louder, as though in competition with her. One of them was loudly expressing his support for the war, his voice carrying to the microphone and echoing through the room.

Rose turned to them, wondering if speaking to them would do any good, but the man who was expressing himself so loudly just smirked at her. She gritted her teeth, realizing that he was doing it on purpose. Then, smirking back, she realized that two could play that game and pulled the microphone from its stand, walking over to them and launching into an anti-war song.

It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. Then, his face contorting with rage, he flung his beer into her face, dousing both her and the microphone. The microphone crackled and went dead.

Rose wiped the beer from her face, anger rising inside her. Tossing the dead microphone aside, she stood over the man, glowering at him.

"You son of a bitch! I was trying to sing!" she shouted, taking the pitcher of beer from the table and flinging it aside, enraging him further. Angel stepped from the shadows and tried to pull her away, but Rose shook him off. "You just ruined this show for everyone else, you know!"

"You're a fucking bleeding heart liberal bitch!" he shouted back, standing. "Where did you learn all this shit from? My fucking nephew?"

Rose gave him a confused look, wondering if he was crazy as well as drunk. Then, looking at him, she realized who he was. "William Dawson, moral compass for the rest of the world, I presume?" Her voice was laden with sarcasm.

"Don't fuck with me, bitch! You hippies come here and get my daughter all upset because her cousin's dead. He should have died years ago!"

A crowd was gathering, watching with interest and egging them on. Rose yelled back.

"Don't you talk about him that way! He was three times the man you'll ever be! You aren't fit to kiss his dead feet!"

"Bitch—"

"My name is Rose, not bitch! And stop cussing at me! You sound like a—a gutter rat! Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners? It's a wonder that people like Jack and Emmaline are related to you. You're an embarrassment to the Dawson name!"

Enraged, he took a swing at her, but his drunkenness had slowed his reflexes, and Rose ducked out of his way before he could touch her. Angel rushed to Rose's defense, hitting the man in the jaw.

William looked at the other man from his table, but his drinking buddy just sat back, enjoying the show. Another fight broke out, and then another, and soon the bar was full of brawling, yelling people, a few standing on the tables and chairs to watch, while others ducked behind the bar or under the tables to stay out of harm's way.

Rose chose to duck under a table. She had never been in the middle of barroom brawl before, and the noisy free-for-all shocked her. She'd never thought that brawls like this one happened in real life; it had always seemed to be something that only happened in books and movies.

The bartender stood atop the bar, yelling, but no one listened until the roar of a shotgun reverberated through the room, shocking all but the most enraged brawlers into stopping.

A piece of the ceiling caved in, nearly hitting the bartender—he'd fired at the ceiling, where no one could be hurt by the blast. Rose had noticed the much-mended quality of the ceiling, but hadn't known the reason for it until now.

"Goddammit!" the bartender roared.

The few people who were still fighting stopped, staring at him. Broken glass and furniture littered the room, while beer and hard liquor lay in puddles on the floor and dripped from the tables and even the ceiling.

Rose slowly crawled out from under the table, shaking. Her simple peasant blouse was soaked with beer, making it almost transparent, and her red curls hung damply in her face. She looked at Angel, who sported a black eye and a split lip, and then at the bartender, who was waving the shotgun around wildly.

She started to move toward Angel, but he gave her a warning look, waving her away. "It's your fault this time," he hissed, glaring at her.

Rose was about to reply when the bartender's voice boomed out again, echoing through the room.

"All of you get out before I call the cops! The bar's closed for the rest of the night!"

A few people grumbled, but most hurried to leave, not trusting the shotgun-waving man. He pointed the shotgun at the little group who had started the trouble.

"I don't want to see any of you in here again! You've wrecked my goddamned bar!"

"You'll fix it," slurred the man who had been sitting with William.

The bartender ignored him. "Get out! All of you!" He looked at Rose and Angel. "And you can forget about getting paid for tonight. With all this damage, you're lucky I'm not turning you over to the cops. You didn't even give us a full show!"

"That was his fault!" Rose gestured to William Dawson, who was halfway out the door. He turned to glare at her, but a look from the bartender sent him on his way.

"I don't care whose fault it was. You're not getting paid. And if you make an issue of it, I may make an issue of those copyrighted songs you were performing. Got it?"

Rose looked at him, her jaw set. "We've got it, all right." She stalked away, mumbling under her breath.

When they got outside, Angel lit into her.

"What the hell were you thinking, getting in that guy's face? You knew it would start trouble!"

"He was disrupting our performance! And anyway, how was I to know that he would get violent? I didn't even know who he was until he mentioned his nephew! And, lest we forget, you played the music when I got after him!"

"That's typical, Rose. Just typical. You want to blame someone else for the trouble you started!"

"I didn't start it! That son of a bitch William Dawson started it!"

"He's your relative!"

"He's not related to me! Dawson is a very common name. Besides, I used to go by DeWitt-Bukater."

"Yeah, I wonder what your real name is."

"You know what it is, but we're not going to discuss it. Suffice it to say that I'll be glad to leave Chippewa Falls behind."

"We could have gotten more gigs here—"

"Shut up!" Rose raised a threatening hand at him. "Don't you think we've gotten into enough trouble for one night, without starting a fight out here? At this rate, we'll wind up in jail!" She took a deep breath, counting to ten to calm herself. "You can do what you want. I'm going to find the hospital and see if the others are still there. Then I'm going back to the motel. Just stay away from me, and we'll all be happy."

* * *

Rose arrived at St. Joseph's Hospital half an hour later, after getting lost once in the darkened streets of Chippewa Falls. There was no sign of Angel.

Jim sat in the waiting area of the emergency room, looking bored. Daffodil stood at the counter talking to a nurse, waving her arms animatedly as she discussed Tim's case.

Rose sat down next to Jim, frowning when he wrinkled his nose at the smell of beer on her. Her blouse had dried, but it was stiff and still smelled strongly of the beer.

"How did the show go?" he asked. "Did you drink the beer, or are you just wearing it?"

"I'm just wearing it. It ended in a brawl, we didn't get paid, and we are forbidden to return to that bar—ever." She tugged at her stiff, sticky blouse, pulling it away from her skin. "How's Tim?"

"He'll live—for now. But they want to keep him here for a week or so, to start treating the TB and get him started on AIDS drugs. He finally gave in. But until he's released, we're stuck in Chippewa Falls."

Daffodil came over to them, some notes on Tim's care written on a couple of sticky notes in her hand. Her eyes widened as she looked at Rose. "What happened to you?"

"The performance ended badly."

"Yeah, you look like it. What did you do, get into a barroom brawl?"

"I hid under a table. Angel did the brawling—along with Emmaline Dawson's father and most of the other patrons of the bar." She looked up as the door opened and Angel came in, his eyes narrowing when he saw her.

Daffodil went up to him to see his black eye and split lip, but he waved her off, giving Rose the finger. She returned the gesture, then put her hand down when the nurse at the counter cleared her throat disapprovingly.

Daffodil looked from one to the other. "Let's go back to the motel now. You guys can tell us what happened on the way there. Jim and Angel can sit up front, and Rose and I will sit in the back. That way, no one will get hurt."


	33. The Wayfaring Stranger 32

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Two

_May 23, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

Rose poked idly at the coals in the barbecue grill at their camping space. With no money from their second performance in the bar, and no new gigs forthcoming, they had been forced to leave the motel and find a free campground. They had been there for most of the past week, waiting for Tim to be released from the hospital so that they could move on.

The four healthy members of the band had tried to get new singing engagements, but once word had spread of the brawl, it became impossible. Rose and Daffodil had provided for the four of them for the most part, wrinkling their noses as they raided the dumpster behind a supermarket and buying out-of-date and otherwise unsalable items.

Even after several days had passed, Angel still refused to speak to Rose, and he took the food that she and Daffodil provided grudgingly. Rose was tired of him and tired of his attitude, and only Daffodil's pleading kept her from walking away.

There had been a subtle change in the relationship between Rose and Daffodil since the night that Rose had come crying into the bar, overwhelmed with guilt because of her perceived role in Jack's death. They hadn't talked about it much—Rose didn't want to be reminded—but they both knew that something had changed. They were closer somehow, although they had been good friends from the start.

Rose tossed aside the stick and abandoned the grill. Still bored, she settled herself down in the shade of a large tree and waited for the others to return.

Tim was finally being released from the hospital today. They had visited him every day, although Rose had kept her distance from him, still upset about how he had acted the night they had dragged him out of the bar and taken him to the hospital.

Rose leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree, thinking. It had been a little over a year since she had left home, but so much had happened, things she could never have imagined even then. Who would have thought that she would join a traveling band, or have a dangerous affair with an AIDS-stricken man, or become friends with someone like Daffodil? Her life was so different from what she had thought it would be when she was engaged to Cal, and life had taken her in some strange directions.

Briefly, she wondered where her life was taking her, and what it would have been like if things had been different, if the earthquake had never happened or if Jack had survived his injuries. Closing her eyes, she acknowledged that there really wasn't much use in thinking about it—what had happened was in the past, and the future was a blank slate. But she couldn't help but wonder.

Rose opened her eyes as the van pulled into the campsite, Tim in the very back. She stood slowly, walking towards it. From the way Tim looked, she thought that it might be a good idea to wait a few days more before moving on.

Daffodil got out of the van, waving to Rose and hurrying around the back to help Tim out. Rose followed her, shocked when she saw Tim.

He looked worse than he had when they had dragged him from the bar and insisted upon taking him to the hospital. He was even thinner and paler than before, and he still coughed violently as Daffodil helped him out. Rose wondered if he should have stayed in the hospital longer, but she knew that there was very little money, and that charity only went so far.

He leaned heavily on Daffodil as she moved him towards the tent that Rose had set up while the others were gone. Rose hurried to his other side, ignoring his protests as she helped them along. No one would share a tent with him; the tuberculosis was far too contagious, and they would be lucky if none of them caught it.

Daffodil helped Tim to lie down, then crouched down beside him, making sure he was comfortable, or as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances.

"We're going to wait another three days before we move on," she told him, handing him a bottle of water. "After that, we're going back to Texas first thing. There's no way you can travel anymore."

"Those doctors don't know what they're talking about," Tim rasped, coughing violently.

"Yes, they do," Daffodil replied, taking his prescriptions out of her pocket and tucking them into his duffel bag. "I may not be a doctor, but I can see that."

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "A little rest, some medicine…we'll be touring again in no time."

Daffodil shook her head, but knowing that nothing that she said would convince him, she shrugged and crawled out of the tent to where Rose was waiting. Gesturing to her, they walked out of earshot and sat down.

"How is he?" Rose asked. In spite of her irritation with him, she was concerned, and it didn't take a doctor to know that he wasn't doing well.

Daffodil shook her head. "Not well. The doctors don't think he has much time left. AIDS can take years to kill, but he hasn't taken the medicines that can prolong a person's life, and it's too late for them to do much good now. Tuberculosis can also linger for a long time, but when you mix the weak immune system of an AIDS patient with untreated tuberculosis—not to mention the fact that he refuses to stop smoking—you have a deadly combination. His lungs are about shot, and they say that he also has Kaposi's sarcoma, which is fairly common in AIDS patients and pretty rare in everyone else."

Rose nodded, knowing what she was talking about. Her father hadn't ever had Kaposi's sarcoma, but she had heard of it. "How long do they think he has?"

"One to three months, probably—if he keeps taking his medicine, which I can't guarantee. He's in denial about it, and might stop taking it for that reason."

Rose nodded again, understanding that, too. _It's sad,_ she thought, _how much I know about AIDS from personal experience._ She had lost her father to the disease, and soon she would lose a friend, too. She was just lucky that she hadn't caught it when she'd had her affair with Tim.

* * *

Early in the evening, Rose was bringing some dinner to Tim when she stopped outside his tent, hearing him talking to Jim and Angel inside.

She was about to crawl inside when she heard her name mentioned, and stopped, wondering what they were talking about.

"You knew, Tim? You knew it when you took up with Rose?" Jim's voice could be heard clearly through the thin tent fabric.

_What did he know?_ Rose wondered, leaning closer to hear better.

"Hey, I protected her. We always used a condom."

"You know they don't always work. She's lucky she's not sick, too." Angel's voice rang out this time.

Rose's hands tightened on the plate. She had a sick, sinking feeling that she knew what they were saying.

Jim's next words confirmed it. "You are such a shithead, Tim. Would you even have cared if she'd gotten sick? You could have killed her."

"I didn't know for sure."

"So it was okay to have sex with her, knowing that you might have AIDS, knowing how it's spread and what it does?"

Rose had heard enough. Furious, she barged into the tent, dumping the plate of food in Tim's lap. "You son a bitch!" she cried, her voice shrill with anger.

Tim stared at her, startled by her outburst. Jim and Angel stared at her, too, then scrambled out of the tent, leaving Tim and Rose alone.

"Rose…"

"Goddammit, Tim! I trusted you, and you…you couldn't have cared less! I was just a good lay for you—you sick bastard!"

"Rose, I didn't know!"

"You suspected! That's why you apologized to me the day you were diagnosed, isn't it? Because you knew there was a possibility that you had AIDS when you took up with me…and you never told me. I would never have suspected if Daffodil hadn't mentioned the possibility to me!"

"Then it's your own fault for not paying more attention, isn't it? Your father of died of AIDS, Rose. You should know what to look for!"

"You're the one who's sick, not me! And I was the one who insisted that we always use a condom. You gladly would have gone without if I'd let you! Thank God I was afraid of getting pregnant—it saved my life!"

Rose gave him a shove, knocking him down against his sleeping bag. "I hate you, you miserable son of a bitch! You're worse than my ex-fiancé ever was. At least with him I had no illusions!"

She backed out of the tent, leaving a stunned Tim staring after her, and stalked to the tent she shared with Daffodil. Shaking with anger, she grabbed her backpack and began to pack her things.

Daffodil appeared at the entrance a moment later. "Rose! What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving, Daffodil. I'm sure you heard what went on in there."

"I think the whole campground heard. Rose, it's almost dark. Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know, but I'm not staying here. If I have to stay around that son of a bitch any longer, I'll kill him. Never mind that he's dying—I'll kill him myself." She stopped as Daffodil crawled into the tent and snatched the backpack away from her. "Daffodil, give me back my bag!"

"I'm going with you."

"What?"

"I'm going with you. This band has had it, Rose. You were right. And there's no way that Tim can hold it together—he'll be lucky to live another month or two. Jim and Angel can take care of themselves—especially if Angel keeps Jim on the straight and narrow—and as to what Tim will do…who knows? It would be best if he went back to his family, but you know how stubborn he is."

"He's an idiot, like all men!"

"Even your Jack?"

"Well…only sometimes. But the rest…Daffodil, I hate men! I just can't win. My ex-fiancé was an abusive bastard…Tim cared only about his own pleasure…Jack was the only one I could really trust. And he's dead! I've had it! I'm through with men!"

"Then it's just the two of us, I guess. If you want me along."

Rose looked at Daffodil, her eyes wide. "Of course I want you along! I'd rather be with you than any of…them!" She gestured to the other tents in their campsite.

"Where should we go?"

"Damned if I know."

"Let's decide in the morning, then. Shall we?"

"I'm not spending another night with them."

"Okay, but where can we go now?"

"Somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know!"

Daffodil sat on her sleeping bag, still not giving Rose her backpack. "Maybe we should just give them the silent treatment for now."

Rose started to argue, then threw her hands up in the air, admitting defeat. "You're right. It's dark, we're almost out of money, we don't know where else to go…I guess we might as well stay here tonight. But first thing tomorrow, we're out of here!"

"Right! We'll hit the road again. Go wherever the wind takes us."

"Yeah. And we'll avoid…them!"

"Daffodil and Rose against the world."

"And men!"

"Right."


	34. The Wayfaring Stranger 33

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Three**

_May 24, 2004  
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin_

Rose was up at dawn, packing. She had slept little the night before, and had fallen into a restless sleep only two hours earlier. The first faint light of dawn had awakened her again.

Daffodil awoke at the sound of Rose collecting her belongings. Blearily, she sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking at Rose sourly.

"What time is it?"

Rose shrugged. "Around four or 4:30, I guess."

"I know you want to leave, but this early?"

Rose's mouth tightened. "I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Do you still want to come with me?"

"Yes, but can't we wait until at least six?"

"No. I want to leave."

"For the love of God—"

"I'm almost packed. How long do you think it'll take you to get ready?"

"A couple of hours. Let me finish sleeping."

"I'll see you around, then—maybe."

"Dammit, Rose…"

"You know why I want to leave!"

"Yes, I know. And if you don't pipe down, so will the whole campground, including Jim and Angel, who didn't do anything to you."

Rose's eyes narrowed. "I'll be just fine on my own."

Daffodil held her hands up defensively. "I never said you wouldn't. You survived before, and you're a lot more capable of taking care of yourself now."

"I did it then, too!"

Daffodil sighed. "Whatever. Your bones would be scattered by coyotes by now if I hadn't come along, but…whatever you say."

"Do you want me to leave on my own?"

"Dammit, Rose…no, I don't. I want to come with you…but you're seriously making me reconsider that idea at the moment." They glared at each other for a minute.

"Fine."

"Fine."

Rose began rolling up her bedroll, attaching it to the bottom of the backpack she had carried all the way from Masline. It was much the worse for wear, but still usable, and she had no intention of spending her hard-earned money on another until she had to.

"Rose, hold on." Daffodil crawled out of her sleeping bag and reached for a pair of jeans. "It's not likely that Tim is even up yet. Jim knows that we're leaving—I told him last night, and I'm sure he told Angel—but you won't have to talk to Tim if you don't want to—which is probably just as well, seeing as to how you were ready to kill him last night."

Rose sighed, tying up the ropes holding her bedroll in place. "I'm not going to kill him. I wish I could say that he deserves to suffer, after the way he kept things from me, but I've seen someone die of AIDS before, and it isn't a fate I'd wish on anyone."

"I wouldn't, either, but I can't believe how he treated you. You trusted him, and—"

"More fool I. I won't be so trusting again." She pulled a granola bar from her bag and opened it, sitting on the floor of the tent to eat her breakfast. "I can't believe I was so trusting this time, knowing what I do about the way some men are."

"No two of them are alike, and Tim might have had me fooled if I hadn't already known him."

"You suspected then that he was sick, too?"

"No, but I knew that he was a jerk. He was a creep growing up, and he's still a creep."

"Don't I know it."

Daffodil finished dressing and began to pack. "Why don't you go and fill our water bottles? We may be roughing it again soon."

By the time Rose returned with the filled bottles, Daffodil had begun to take down the tent. Silently, they worked together, packing up their shelter and fastening it securely to the bottom of Daffodil's pack along with her sleeping bag.

"Are you ready to go?" Rose asked, swinging her own bag onto her back.

"In a couple of minutes. I want to wash up before we leave."

Rose leaned against a tree, waiting for Daffodil to return. As Daffodil walked back towards her, weighted down by her pack, Rose saw Jim, Angel, and a sickly-looking Tim approaching her from their camp.

Rose quickly walked away, going up to Daffodil. "Let's get going," she said, her voice low. "I don't want to deal with Tim right now."

Jim and Angel had already caught up to them, while Tim walked slowly along behind, struggling to carry something and looking as if a gentle breeze would blow him over.

"So you guys are really leaving?" Jim asked, looking at them incredulously. Daffodil had told him, but he hadn't quite believed her.

"Yes," Daffodil told him, turning to face him and gesturing to Rose to wait for her. "The band's kaput, you know. With all the trouble here, and the trouble between all of us, and Tim—" She stopped, not wanting Tim to overhear her.

"Yeah." Jim shuffled his feet, not sure what to say. "Well, I guess this is good-bye. Angel and I will be leaving soon, too. We're going to take Tim home to Texas, no matter how much he objects, and then…well, we'll see."

"Yeah. Good luck, Jim, Angel. We'll be thinking of you." She nodded, her expression cool, as Tim caught up to them. "Good-bye, Tim."

"Daffodil, wait! I have something for Rose…"

Rose turned, her arms folded stiffly across her chest. "I've already seen it, and I don't want it."

"What?" It took him a minute to figure out what she was referring to. Then he blushed. "Not that. God, what do you take me for?"

"A loser."

"Rose, I want to apologize. I was wrong not to tell you what I suspected. The doctors say that I don't have much time left, so I'm saying it now. I'm sorry."

Rose hesitated, still not approaching him. "I accept your apology, but I still can't forgive you, Tim. I don't know if I ever will. You could have killed me, and I've seen what AIDS does to people—it's not something I ever want to experience. I don't wish it on you, either."

"I know. Rose…I want you to have this." He approached her again as she watched him warily, then held out his guitar case. "I don't think I'll be using it again, and you have one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. You'll go a long way. I'm just sorry I won't be able to see you."

"I'm sorry, too." Rose took the guitar. "I should have known better than to trust someone so blindly—but this time I've learned my lesson. It won't happen again." She stepped forward, hugging him briefly. "Thank you, Tim. Good luck." She nodded to Jim and Angel. "Good luck to all of you."

"Where are you guys going?" Angel had started to walk away, but turned back for a moment to say good-bye.

Rose shrugged. "I don't know." She looked at Daffodil. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever the wind takes us…but for now, I'd like to go to Canada. I haven't been there in about three years."

"We're going to Canada," Rose answered Angel. "Maybe we'll see you again someday."

"Yeah, maybe. Oh, and Rose…sorry I was such a jackass about what happened in the bar. It wasn't really your fault."

"Well, I could have kept my mouth shut and not been so antagonizing—but thank you."

They lingered for a moment longer before Rose and Daffodil turned away, waving once before walking away. They might meet again in the future—or perhaps not. As Rose had learned long ago, no one could be sure of what the future held.


	35. Rhyme and Reason 1

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Four

_And you wonder where we're going  
Where's the rhyme and where's the reason?  
And it's you cannot accept  
It is here we must begin  
To seek the wisdom of the children  
And the gentle ways of flowers in the wind…_

_June 1, 2004  
Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada_

Rose and Daffodil walked along the highway outside of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, their thumbs out as they tried to hitch a ride. In the week since they had left Chippewa Falls, they had traveled to the Canadian border by bus, then set out on foot and by hitchhiking when their money ran out.

Two nights earlier, they had hitched a ride into Moose Jaw, camping out by the river. Meals consisted mostly of what they could fish, forage, or scrounge, although they had come across a few restaurants that allowed them to work for a meal.

Rose was fascinated by Moose Jaw—and by most of the places they visited—but there was little money to explore the tourist attractions, and what they did manage to earn mostly went for food. With neither of them employed—or eligible for employment in Canada—they had to do whatever came their way. Rose stuck to legal means of earning food or money—singing, yard work, washing cars—but she suspected that Daffodil was not quite so honest, particularly when she disappeared for a while, then returned with money in her pocket and grass in her hair, or brought a bag of fresh fruits, vegetables, and even eggs with her. She always swore that someone had given her those things, or that she had found them, but Rose didn't always believe her.

Still, hunger was a powerful motivator, and Rose didn't object too loudly to Daffodil's possibly illegal activities. She knew that her friend had a good head on her shoulders and would never deliberately hurt anyone. Daffodil refused to tell Rose precisely where she had gotten the food and money that she brought back, or what she had been doing, but when other ways of obtaining what they needed presented themselves, the unexplained items stopped appearing.

Rose didn't like the idea of Daffodil stealing from people's gardens or selling herself, but she was grateful to have enough to eat. Ethics and morality were easy to ignore when the alternative was hunger, although she had never been desperate enough to do such things herself. She wouldn't rule it out, though; life on the road wasn't easy.

Rose was drawn from her thoughts as a car pulled to a stop beside them. Two teenage girls looked out at them, one of them rolling down her window.

"You guys looking for a ride?" she asked, eyeing them nervously but egged on by her friend.

"Yeah." Rose set her guitar down, resting her arms for a moment.

"Where are you going?"

She shrugged. "Anywhere." Glancing at Daffodil, she added, "Right?"

"Yeah. We're just traveling."

"Okay." The driver looked at them oddly, then shrugged. "Get in. How come you're not staying here?"

Rose shot a look at Daffodil, suspecting that she knew why she was so eager to leave, even though they'd found a good camping spot that they could have stayed at for several days more. She didn't tell the girls that, though.

"Who wants to stay in Moose Jaw?" she asked, getting laughs from both teenagers.

"Not me," responded the girl in the driver's seat. "We're going to Regina. That okay with you guys?"

"Fine with us," Daffodil responded, climbing into the back seat.

"It's as good a place as any," Rose agreed, hoping that Daffodil would stay out of trouble this time.


	36. Rhyme and Reason 2

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Five

Daffodil and Rose spent a month in Regina, working steadily at semi-legitimate jobs. Neither of them had the Social Insurance card number necessary to take a job in Canada, but within two days of arriving in the city, they had managed to talk the owner of a sleazy strip joint into hiring them unofficially, paying them in cash and making no mention of them to the authorities.

Both women tried to only serve drinks and wait tables at first, but it soon became apparent that dancers made considerably more in tips—and since neither of them wanted to work there for long, or stay in Regina for long, they both took to the stage.

Both Rose and Daffodil were accustomed to performing, on their own, as a duo, or with the band, but exotic dancing was new to them. They learned it quickly enough, especially Daffodil, who was far more comfortable with displaying her body than Rose was, but they did it more for the money than for the joy of being on the stage and having all eyes on them.

Stripping would never be one of Rose's favorite ways to perform, but after a few days she grew more accustomed to it—and she soon learned that she got bigger tips when she sang while dancing. Daffodil did not do so well when she tried the same thing. Few customers appreciated her voice.

For some reason, many men were even more interested when they danced together. Perhaps it was the sight of two women on the stage, or perhaps it fueled their fantasies—or both—but more men gathered near the stage, cheering them on and giving them money.

They might have earned more money if they had allowed things to go farther, as more than one man was eager to touch and offered to take them into one of the private rooms at the back, but neither Rose nor Daffodil was willing to go so far. The moment any man tried to touch above the knee, they backed off with a teasing smile, and no man could convince them to do anything more, not even a private dance.

Rose was always reluctant to get too close, but she was surprised at Daffodil's reticence, especially since she was certain that her friend had prostituted herself on at least two occasions in order to get food and money. She couldn't understand why Daffodil had done such things when there were other alternatives, but it wasn't until after they left the city early in July that she confronted her about it.

* * *

A few nights after they left Regina, Rose and Daffodil were sitting beside their campfire in another wild area, relaxing under the clear night sky. They had plenty of non-perishable food in their packs now, and enough money to take them a long way tucked into different hiding places.

The river they had been following gurgled along nearby, reflecting the starlight overhead in still spots. With the abundance of fish, cattails, wild greens, and early berries available, they had little need of the dried and canned food they carried with them, choosing instead to live off the land for the most part. Rose was amazed at the amount of knowledge of plants and animals and how to survive that Daffodil had, no matter where they stopped. It didn't seem possible that anyone could know so much about so many places, but Daffodil had traveled widely in her life, and had learned new things wherever she went.

"Daffodil?"

"Hmm?" Daffodil looked up from she was leaning back against her pack, her eyes half-closed. "What is it, Rose?"

"I noticed back in Moose Jaw that you seemed to be able to get food and money when it didn't seem like much was available."

"I have my ways."

"I've noticed," Rose told her dryly. "So do I, but the things that I was doing were a little more…legitimate, I think."

"What do you mean?" Daffodil knew what Rose was trying to ask, but she wasn't about to help her.

"I mean, I earned food and money by doing work for people, or by entertaining them. And you…"

"I worked and entertained people, too."

"I think you did a little more than that."

"Come on, Rose. Moose Jaw, in case you didn't notice, is a town of factories. People who work in factories don't usually have a lot of extra money to spend on street performers or day laborers—or much need when other entertainment and ways of getting the work done are available. And it was late May and early June—still early enough in the spring up here that there isn't too much yard work to be done and such."

"But enough that you were able to make off with fresh garden produce and eggs from a few henhouses outside of town."

Daffodil looked across the fire at Rose. "I was hungry, and I notice that you weren't too reluctant to help eat the stuff."

"I was hungry, too."

"Besides, I never took more than a little from anywhere, and never from anyplace that didn't already have a lot."

"But it still wasn't right. And what about the prostitution?"

"What prostitution?"

"You came back twice with grass in your hair, dirt and grass stains on your shirt, and money in your pocket."

"And it was only twice, and with the same man both times."

"But why, when you have so many skills? You could have done something else."

"I was hungry then."

"Couldn't you have waited?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I get the shakes when I'm too hungry, in case you've never noticed. He offered me ten dollars and dinner for a quick roll in the grass. I accepted."

"Daffodil!" Rose stared at her. "I can see doing that once, but twice?"

"It was more legitimate than stealing from people's yards. He got what he wanted, I got what I—we—needed, and no one got hurt or lost anything."

"I trust you were smart enough to use protection?"

Daffodil rolled her eyes. "Of course. I'm not stupid, you know."

"How did you afford it?"

"I made him buy it. He wasn't getting anything without it, no matter how hungry I was."

"What was his name?"

"I don't know."

"Daffodil!" Rose gave her a concerned look. "That wasn't very smart. Prostitution can get you food and money, yes, but it can also get you something you didn't bargain for, like a disease or a baby—or arrested."

"Like I said, Rose, I'm not stupid. I made him use protection."

"It doesn't always work."

"I also know what to look for in terms of symptoms."

"Some things take a long time to show up, like AIDS, and they can kill you."

"I know that, Rose. I don't do this often—only when I'm really hungry."

"How often have you done this before?"

"A couple of times…and nothing happened."

"Lucky you."

"Look, Rose…you haven't been in a situation yet where you were that hungry. It might come, so don't tell me how immoral or stupid I am."

"I'm not calling you immoral. I'm just…concerned, is all. Bad things can happen."

"Bad things can happen without getting money for it, too…or don't you remember how scared you were when you thought that you might have caught AIDS from Tim? Or how angry you were when you found out that he had suspected that he was sick and had kept it from you?"

"Daffodil, I just worry about you is all. You're my best friend, and I don't want anything to happen to you. I've lost enough people that I cared about already; I don't need to lose you, too."

"I don't sell myself unless I'm really desperate, Rose. I don't enjoy prostituting myself. I only do it if I absolutely have to."

"Daffodil, before you do that again, tell me that you need food. I'll find something for you, even if it means shoplifting."

"Can you do that without being caught?"

"I don't know. I won't do it unless I have to."

"I don't do such things unless I have to, either, and there's a big difference between doing something out of need and doing something because you're greedy or mean. If you do have to do things like that, never do or take more than is absolutely necessary. At least you'll be able to live with yourself that way. And never hurt anyone unless they're trying to hurt you and it's the only way to defend yourself."

"I know." Rose thought about the people she had known who had engaged in criminal behavior. It wasn't just vagrants like herself and Daffodil, or obnoxious street kids like Jack had once been. The rich and powerful sometimes did such things, too—and they hurt far more people in the process.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Rose and Daffodil retreated to their tent for the night. Neither had said much after their discussion, but had instead sat listening to the night, each lost in their own thoughts.

Rose had noticed Daffodil staring at her across the fire several times, but each time, she had quickly looked away when she noticed Rose looking back.

Something about the way Daffodil had looked had looked at her had seemed oddly familiar to Rose. It wasn't until she was drifting off to sleep that she realized why it was familiar, though.

With a bit of shock, Rose realized that Daffodil had been looking at her in the same way that the men she had been in relationships with had looked at her—and this wasn't the first time, either.


	37. Rhyme and Reason 3

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Six**

It was several days before Rose got the courage to confront Daffodil with what she thought she had seen. Deep inside, she knew that she was right about the way she had seen Daffodil looking at her—however hard her friend tried to hide it—but she wasn't sure if she was comfortable with the idea. She had seen and done many things that she never would have thought of before in the time since she had set out on her own, but the idea that another woman might take an interest in her had never occurred to her. It wasn't a new concept, of course—she had heard of and occasionally witnessed such things before, and she had lived with Jim and Angel too long not to be familiar with same-sex partnerships—but she had never thought that anyone would look at her in that way, not even her best friend. As fond as Rose was of Daffodil, she wasn't sure if she was comfortable with this new facet to their relationship.

Finally, about four days after it had occurred to Rose that Daffodil might have more than a friendly interest in her, she mustered the courage to ask her about it. As they were sitting down to eat dinner across the campfire from each other, she looked up and caught Daffodil's eye. Taking a deep breath, she set her fork down.

"Daffodil, I have a question for you."

Daffodil looked a little startled, but quickly set her fork down and looked at Rose. "Ask away."

"Daffodil, I…a few nights ago, I saw you watching me…uh…well…like…like…" She saw that Daffodil was turning red, so she hurried to finish her statement. "…like Tim used to."

Daffodil tried to skirt around the question. "You mean, like I was hoping that you didn't know about whatever indiscretion I'd committed this time?"

Rose was distracted for a moment. "What did you do this time that I need to worry about?" She stopped. "Wait. You couldn't have done anything illegal or even questionable. There's nothing to do out here."

"Well, then…"

"Stop trying to distract me." Rose looked at her crossly. It had taken her a long time to get enough courage to confront her best friend, and she didn't like having her questions made light of. "You know very well what I'm talking about." She almost hoped that she was wrong—it would make things so much easier, at least once they had smoothed over the awkwardness of this moment.

Daffodil ducked her head, her blush becoming more pronounced. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."

"It took me a long time to figure out," Rose admitted.

"When did you figure out what that look meant?"

"About four days ago. It's taken me this long to find the courage to ask you about it."

"I'm sorry, Rose. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I just…believe it or not, this is new to me. I've never looked at another woman this way before."

"Me, neither," Rose told her, then blushed. It sounded almost as if she shared Daffodil's interest. "How…why do I catch your interest, and not anyone else?"

"I don't know. I always liked men—at least those who had some manners—but there's something about you that…well…just caught my interest."

"So…there's something special about me?" Rose couldn't help but feel flattered.

"Yeah…you could say that. Look, Rose, if you're not interested, I understand completely. If you had started looking at me this way, I would have been uncomfortable, too, even though…it's hard to explain."

"I know. But the thing is, I'm not sure how I feel. At the moment, I'm still leery of men—Tim put me off in a big way—but I can't say that it makes me want to try a relationship with a woman. You're my best friend, but…"

"I would be leery of men, too, if someone had done to me what Tim did to you. He could have killed you!"

"He wasn't the first to betray my trust, or to hurt me. My first boyfriend and I, in high school, parted on friendly terms—he moved away—and I'll always love Jack, even though he's dead. But the others, Cal and Tim, were almost enough to make me swear off men forever."

"I know about Tim, but what about Cal? Wasn't he your ex-fiancé? What did he do?"

"What didn't he do?" Rose picked up her fork, poking absently at her dinner before looking at Daffodil again. "Plenty."

"Like what? Did he cheat on you?"

"I wish. If he'd been cheating, he might have left me alone." She put a forkful of food in mouth and chewed slowly for a moment, wondering if she should talk about Cal. She had promised never to tell anyone about the fact that he had killed Jack, but as to everything else…

"He was abusive," she finally said. She put the plate on the grass beside her, her appetite gone. "My mother forced me into the engagement by threatening to throw me out on the streets if I didn't agree to it. I wasn't ready to marry anyone, let alone a man like Cal. I had just graduated from high school when he proposed—and after my mother's ultimatum, I felt like I had no choice in the matter."

"And irony of ironies, here you are now—homeless by choice for more than a year."

"Yeah." Rose half-smiled. "Who would have thought it? But I kept hoping that things would get better with Cal—I liked him, even though I didn't love him. But they didn't. A month into the engagement, he started slapping me around and trying to control me. Actually, he had tried to control me before that, but it wasn't so blatant as it became later. I made the mistake of telling him what Mom had done—and then he really became a control freak. I could never predict what kind of mood he'd be in—but after he'd slapped me around, he was always contrite, always promised that it wouldn't happen again. It got so that I sometimes wished that he would just hit me and get it over with—because after that he was usually in a better mood. I would try to think of what I'd done to deserve being hit, and he always had an excuse."

"The classic domestic abuse cycle. It probably would have gotten worse if you'd married him."

"I'm sure of it, although at that time I kept trying to convince myself that things would get better. He got even worse after I met Jack, always assuming that something was going on between us."

"Wasn't there?"

"Not while I was involved with Cal. Jack and I were just friends, and I made sure that it stayed that way until I finally decided to end things with Cal. But Cal never believed that. It finally came to a head one morning in April, just a couple of weeks before the earthquake…" She stopped, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you something that I've only told one other person, and I don't want you ever to repeat it. Promise me that you won't."

"I promise, Rose. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you. Anyway…well…I had been out late the night before at a wedding, rather than on the usual date with Cal. I hadn't seen him that night, but it turned out that he had been spying on me and had seen me dancing with Jack. The next morning, he openly accused me of sleeping with Jack, and when I denied it, he punched me in the face. I was so shocked that I just stood there for a minute, but when I realized what else he had in mind, I ran.

"Unfortunately, he was faster than me. He grabbed me and started beating me, then threw me on the floor, knocking my head against the table in the process. I was so stunned that I couldn't move for a moment, and by the time I could, he was tearing at my clothes. I struggled and begged and fought, but he still succeeded in raping me."

Daffodil gasped, her eyes wide. "Oh, Rose, how awful! Men who do that should have their raping equipment removed."

Rose shuddered. "I thought that it was my fault, that I had done something to make him rape me. I thought that maybe if I slept with him more often, he wouldn't resort to rape, or if I avoided Jack he wouldn't get so angry and jealous. I wound up in the hospital that afternoon—I'd gotten a concussion from hitting my head on the table, which I blamed on a fall down the stairs—and he brought me flowers and a fancy necklace and told me that it would never happen again. I was getting to the point where I didn't believe him anymore—but I still tried to talk myself into believing what he said. And he was very nice to me—for about two weeks. Then he got mad at me for disagreeing with him about something and slammed my wrist against a doorframe.

"That afternoon, I thought about everything that had happened. I was feeling suffocated—not just by Cal and his abuse and demands, but by my whole world. I went out for a drive, and finally ended up in Jack's neighborhood. I went to find him—I had decided to end things with Cal by then—and we spent a wonderful afternoon and evening together. He's the only other person I've told all this to."

"What did he say when you told him about Cal raping you?"

"He was very sympathetic—he held me while I cried, told me that it wasn't my fault…and succeeded in convincing me."

Daffodil had come around the fire and put her arms around Rose, hugging her as she stared into the fire, lost in her memories.

"And then what happened?" she asked Rose, drawing her back to the present.

"And then I jumped into bed with Jack." Rose gave a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "Crazy, isn't it? I was so upset about the way that one man touched me that I jumped into bed with another. But it didn't seem crazy. It felt like the right thing to do, and I've never regretted it. But I don't think I'll do the same thing this time—no offense." She looked at Daffodil.

"None taken." Daffodil rocked her gently as Rose laid her head against her shoulder. "Was that the night of the earthquake?"

Rose was silent for a moment. "Yes. We had only a few hours together before his death. I finally told him that I loved him, just before he died. He said that he loved me, too, and gripped my hand with all his strength. Those were the last words he ever spoke to me. And after I was rescued, and recovered from my injuries, I decided that it was time to set out on my own, to make my own life. I left, and I've never been back." Rose was silent for a moment, staring into the dying flames of the fire. "Daffodil…about your feelings toward me…"

"Yes?"

"I don't know what I feel. You're my best friend, one of the best friends that I've ever had…but I don't know how far I can go. It'll take time for me to decide…what I feel."

"I understand." Daffodil stood, reaching to pick up the dishes from beside the fire. "It's up to you, Rose, whatever happens. But whatever you decide, I won't hold it against you. You're my best friend, too, and I value that more than anything."

Rose nodded, getting to her feet and leaning over to bank the fire. "Thank you for understanding."

"It's not a problem. I wasn't sure how you would feel. That's why I tried to hide it."

"I know."

They finished cleaning up in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. It wasn't until they were crawling into their sleeping bags that Daffodil turned to Rose, asking a question that had been on her mind since their conversation had taken place.

"Rose?"

"Hmm?"

"Did Cal kill Jack?"

Rose was silent for a moment, hoping that Daffodil hadn't guessed the truth.

"No. No, he didn't. The earthquake killed him."

Daffodil frowned, remembering that Rose had said that Jack had been shot, but didn't press the issue. There was obviously a reason why Rose didn't want to talk about it, and after all that had already been said that night, she wasn't going to push her.


	38. Rhyme and Reason 4

A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Two days after their discussion, Rose and Daffodil broke camp and moved on, traveling east. They remained friends, just as they had before, but there was a certain underlying tension that hadn't been there before.

Neither of them knew quite how to deal with what had been revealed that night, or with the uncertain feelings that it had brought to the surface, so they tried to ignore it at first. But the secret, once revealed, couldn't be suppressed, and it wasn't long before a choice had to made.

The first small step in their relationship came late in July, when Rose slipped on a rock crossing a rushing stream and fell, and Daffodil came to her aid. As usual, Rose accepted Daffodil's help in getting out of the water, but when they were back on dry land, they didn't stop holding hands, and instead walked along together, instead of one trailing the other, as was their usual way of traveling.

After that, things moved more quickly. On warm nights in the wilderness, they spread their sleeping bags out together and lay side-by-side under the stars, talking and then finally falling asleep. It wasn't more intimate, exactly, but their actions had effected a change in their relationship, one that had, in some ways, brought them closer, but it made them both wonder what would happen if they decided to go back to the way things were before, or if it would even be possible.

It was on one of those nights that Daffodil kissed Rose. Rose was surprised at first, then responded, more out of curiosity than anything else. She had never been kissed that way before by anyone but a man—and not all of those advances had been welcome.

Rose was surprised when Daffodil backed down after that, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with what might happen next, and she realized that Daffodil wasn't, either—which was why she had backed away. Such a relationship was unfamiliar to both of them, and neither was sure that they wanted to take it all the way.


	39. Rhyme and Reason 5

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Eight**

_October 1, 2004  
Nova Scotia, Canada_

Rose stepped out the door of the motel room and shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. A chill breeze tossed her red curls around her face, obscuring her vision. She pulled them back impatiently, holding them in place with a rubber band.

Daffodil came to stand beside her, also hugging herself against the morning chill. "Damn, but it's cold."

"A lot colder than California or Arizona at this time of year."

"Well, it is Canada. We can't expect it to be as warm as the southwestern United States."

Rose shivered again, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. "You ready for work?"

"Yeah. More or less."

After several months in the wilderness or on the outskirts of civilization, the advancing season had led them to seek more steady work and a warmer place to stay. They still could not work legally in Canada, so they had taken housekeeping jobs with a wealthy family who didn't mind breaking the law as long as they could pay their illegal employees less than what they were worth. It wasn't Rose's idea of a good job, but at the moment, it was the best they could do.

Setting out along the street, Rose glanced at Daffodil, who was hunched against the chilly breeze. "Do you ever think about going back to the United States?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"Maybe we should. We're citizens of that country, so we can work anywhere and not have to worry about being caught, and we can demand decent wages."

"I kind of like Canada."

"So do I, but I don't like being cold and hungry—and that's what we've been for the past month."

"What, you don't like that motel?"

"Let's just say that mud is cleaner, smells better—and you don't have to listen to people who are renting by the hour."

Daffodil laughed. "An apartment would be cheaper in the long run."

"But we can't afford one now…we'd have to save up for it. And what if someone wanted to check our credentials? The motel doesn't care, but an apartment owner…"

"Do you want to go back to the United States? The paper says they're getting more divided every day—this presidential election is one of the most divisive in the country's history."

"At least we're citizens. No one's going to throw us out of there."

"So you want to go back."

"Yeah, I'm starting to think so. I mean, could it be any worse than walking three miles each way to work at crappy jobs that barely pay enough to live indoors? We're just lucky we get breakfast and lunch there, or we'd really be in trouble. And what will we do when it snows? Think of how long the walk will be then—and I don't think our generous employers will make us live-in maids."

"You're starting to sound like me."

"I know. I'm seeing the world more and more from your point of view. I guess you're rubbing off on me."

They walked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Rose tucked her hands deep into her pockets, glancing at Daffodil occasionally. Since the summer night when they had kissed in their tent on the bank of a river in Saskatchewan, nothing more had happened between them. Rose didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She wasn't sure how she felt about a more intimate relationship with her best friend, but Daffodil's interest had been flattering, if nothing else. But Daffodil had backed off after that, and any attempt on Rose's part to bring up the subject had made her stammer, blush, and change the subject. Rose had seen her looking at her a few times, but nothing more.

"How long do you think it would take us to get to New York City?" Daffodil asked, bringing Rose out of her reverie.

"What?"

"How long do you think it would take us to get to New York City?" Daffodil repeated. "'Cause I know a guy there who can get us jobs in a nightclub."

"What kind of jobs?" Rose looked at her suspiciously. She'd had her fill of working as a stripper.

"Serving drinks, cleaning up, that kind of thing."

"I'm underage still."

"You can serve drinks, just not pour them. And nothing's stopping you from cleaning after the crowds go home."

"And you're sure this is all these jobs entail? No stripping or…other stuff?"

"I'm sure. I've worked for this guy before."

"What's his name?"

"Roland de la Maize."

"Roland of the Corn?"

"Hey, it's his name. It's not like he had any choice in the matter."

"Well…I don't know. If you're sure he's legit…"

"I'm sure. You're the one who was wanting to go back to the U.S."

"True."

"So, how long do you think it will take us to get from here to New York City?"

"Since we can't afford airfare or even bus fare the whole way? That depends on how far we can hitch rides in the right direction."

"So, maybe a few weeks?"

"Maybe. If we're lucky and don't get stuck somewhere."

"Do you want to go or not?"

"Let's finish out the week here and collect our pay, and then we'll head south. Wherever we wind up, maybe it'll be a little warmer."


	40. Rhyme and Reason 6

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Thirty-Nine**

_October 19, 2004  
New York City_

"Roland! Hey, Roland!"

Daffodil walked through the empty nightclub, Rose following at a distance. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and they had arrived in the city three hours earlier after two weeks of walking and hitching rides south.

"Roland!"

Rose winced at Daffodil's shrill voice. It had taken them two hours to find their way there because Daffodil didn't remember the exact location of the club, and in a city the size of New York, that could make finding a place difficult.

Finally, a scruffy-looking man of indeterminate age stepped out of his office, holding his head and glaring at them. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?"

Rose was a bit taken aback, wondering if Daffodil really knew him. Her unspoken question was answered a moment later, though, when he groaned and narrowed his eyes.

"Daffodil, what are you doing back here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing back here? I haven't seen you in over three years."

"Last time I saw you, I put you on a plane for Albuquerque. You swore you were going to stay out of trouble."

"I have stayed out of trouble, and anyway, the plane only reached Baltimore before being grounded. It was September 11, 2001, remember?"

"How could I forget? I knew your flight wasn't one of the hijacked ones, though, so I didn't worry. You can take care of yourself."

"Lucky for you. Mom and Dad would have had a fit if anything had happened to me."

"You did eventually make it to New Mexico, didn't you?"

"Eventually. Baltimore isn't bad, though I must admit I prefer the west; but yes, I made it back home two weeks later."

"What are you doing here now?"

"Rose and I just got here from Canada and we need jobs."

"Rose?" Roland looked past Daffodil and groaned again. "What makes you think I have jobs available?"

"You always have jobs available."

"Not this time."

"That's not what the janitor who let us in said." Daffodil turned to Rose. "Before I forget my manners—and don't you dare make a smart remark—Rose, this is Roland de la Maize, my sort-of step-uncle."

"Your sort-of step-uncle?" Rose raised an eyebrow, wondering at this bit of information.

"Well, see, he's the stepson from the first marriage of my grandfather's third wife—it was her second marriage when she married him—but the marriage didn't last long because she thought she was marrying him for his money and he didn't have any money, but they stayed married long enough that I met Roland, who she had custody of while his dad was off serving active duty in Nicaragua back in the eighties." She leaned closer to Rose. "Don't worry. He cleans up pretty good."

"Don't even try to play matchmaker," Rose hissed. "I have no interest in your sort-of step-uncle."

Roland sighed, letting go of his head and then touching it again carefully as though afraid it would fall off. "Daffodil, I can't afford to send you home this time. The club is short on singers, and…"

Daffodil waved aside his objections. "I don't want to go home right now anyway, so I wouldn't go even if you could send me. And anyway, Rose can sing, so you can hire her for that."

"Daffodil…"

"You're just being rude because you have a hangover. I told you all that stuff you drink isn't good for you."

"I don't have jobs for you and your friend, so just stop it right there."

"I just told you that Rose can sing."

"Daffodil…"

"Please, Uncle Roland?" Daffodil switched tactics, giving him a puppy-dog look. "You just said you're short on singers, and Rose and I sang in a band until it broke up."

"_You_ sang in a band? No wonder they broke up. You couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Rose bristled at the insult to her best friend. "She's only that bad sometimes!"

"Oh, thanks a lot, Rose." Daffodil cast her an annoyed look, then turned back to Roland. "Won't you at least give her an audition? You haven't got anything better to do."

"Daffodil, I have a pile of paperwork, and then I have to look for two new singers…" He put a hand over his face, realizing what he had just said.

"See? I've just lightened your workload. I found you a new singer already."

"Goddammit, Daffodil…" He gritted his teeth. "All right. I'll audition her…but if she makes my headache any worse, she's out of here."

"You'll love her. I promise." Daffodil turned to Rose, who looked ready to turn and walk out. "You're auditioning to be a lounge singer, more or less. This isn't exactly one of the hottest, trendiest nightclubs around." When Rose looked longingly towards the door again, Daffodil continued, "Roland's not very picky when he's desperate."

"Daffodil!" Rose and Roland looked at her incredulously.

"I'm not desperate," Roland added.

"And I'm not that bad," Rose put in.

"Well, then, good. It's all settled. You'll audition and he'll hire you."

Roland glowered at Daffodil for a moment, then turned to Rose. "Do you ever want to strangle her?" he asked.

"Only sometimes," Rose answered him, narrowing her eyes at Daffodil. Looking at Roland again, she asked, "Are you going to audition me or not?"

He sighed resignedly. "I guess. Show me what you can do."

"Right now?"

"Can you think of a better time?"

Rose shrugged. "I guess not." Taking a deep breath and standing up straight, she sang a few lines of a song that had been popular a few years earlier.

He listened to her for one verse, then cut her off. "All right, all right. You're hired. Be here at six to warm up your voice. You're just a back-up singer for now, okay?"

"Sure." Rose tried to be blasé, but inside she was excited. It was her first singing job she'd gotten on her own instead of as part of a band, even if she was just a back-up singer.

Daffodil was staring at Roland with her arms crossed. He stared back at her for a moment, wondering what she wanted, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"Okay, Daffodil. You can serve drinks—but you'd better stay out of trouble."

"Oh, honestly, how much trouble do you think I can get into?"

She was a little surprised when Rose and Roland responded in unison.

"Plenty!"


	41. Rhyme and Reason 7

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Forty**

Rose quickly fell back into the life of an entertainer, singing and dancing in the club six nights a week. She had always enjoyed being onstage, even as a young child, but this job offered more security than any other professional gig she had had, and she got along with her fellow back-up singers and the lead singer far better than she had with Tim. For the first time in a long time, she was content to stay where she was.

Daffodil was not so content. She continued to pester Roland for a job as a backup singer until he recorded her singing attempts and played them back for her. Horrified at what she really sounded like, she gave up trying to sing onstage, wondering how anyone had ever allowed her to be a member of a band or a street performer, though Rose reassured her that it had always been her comedic talent that had kept her going—and even bad singing could be funny.

In spite of giving up her aspirations to sing onstage at the club, Daffodil was not content to just serve drinks and lead an ordinary life. She had spent most of her life going her own way—except for a few years as an adolescent, when the call of conformity had been too strong even for her—and after a week of working in the nightclub, she began to, as Rose put it, search for trouble again.

The presidential election that year was one of the most hotly contested and divisive contests in American history. Not surprisingly, Daffodil threw herself joyfully into the fray, supporting the Democrat, John Kerry—she loathed Bush. Rose was more cautious, but Daffodil's enthusiasm was infectious, and the two women soon found themselves carrying signs and campaigning for their candidate, though their views were not always welcome—and they found themselves cheered and joined by fellow Kerry supporters and booed and turned away by Bush supporters.

Daffodil tried to pull Roland into the fray, but he simply locked himself in his office and wanted no part of any of his niece's crazy schemes. Undeterred, Daffodil continued in her campaign, growing more and more intense as Election Day neared.

Unfortunately, not everyone she met shared Daffodil's enthusiasm. An hour before the polls closed, she was going door-to-door in the slum apartment complex she and Rose were living in, knocking on doors and reminding people to vote, when she met a woman who couldn't stand Daffodil, Democrats, or politics in general. When Daffodil refused to back down, the woman struck out at her, and a fight ensued. Another tenant called the police when the embattled women smashed into his door, breaking it open, and Daffodil and her adversary were arrested.

It was with great displeasure that Roland and Rose bailed Daffodil out the next morning, especially when she emerged from jail thoroughly unrepentant and eager to take up another campaign. Rose and Daffodil argued all the way back to their apartment, Rose stating that she would never participate in another of Daffodil's brilliant schemes, and Daffodil assuring her that she would.

Much to Rose's irritation, she knew her best friend was right.


	42. Rhyme and Reason 8

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Forty-One**

_New York City  
February 1, 2005_

_"…come and stand beside us; we can find a better way!"_

Rose finished the last few steps of the dance and ducked behind the curtain, leaving the lead singer to enjoy the smattering of applause. Few visitors to the nightclub paid much attention to the singers unless the lull between songs was too long, and even then it was the lead singer who got the attention—not the three backup singers.

She reached for a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow. Much as she loved singing and dancing onstage, it would be nice to have a little more appreciation and acknowledgment of her effort. The other two singers felt the same way, but when they had suggested that they be allowed to stay out on stage after a set and receive some of the little praise and acknowledgment, Roland had put his foot down. The lead singer was an up-and-coming star, he was sure, and he would do nothing to jeopardize her status or the potential rewards coming his way.

Rose tossed the towel aside and reached for a bottle of water, taking a long drink. Roland was irritated with Daffodil again—she had launched an advertising campaign for the nightclub that had actually been mildly successful, but without his permission—and his irritation extended to Rose by default. Daffodil had kept her mouth shut about Rose's part in the advertising campaign—she had participated after much coaxing on Daffodil's part—but Roland was no fool. He knew that the two of them had worked together—not only did the campaign sound like the effort of both, but a new customer had informed him of the fact that a tall brunette and a musically-inclined redhead had talked him into trying the nightclub. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the extra customers, but it hadn't been his idea and his niece had made no effort to inform him of her efforts on the nightclub's behalf until he had called her into his office and yelled at her.

Rose was putting on her coat, preparing to go out to Roland's car for the ride home, when Daffodil shoved her way through the curtains, her face mutinous.

"Do you know what he did?!" she thundered before Rose could ask what was wrong.

"Who?"

"Roland!"

"No. What did he do to make you mad this time?"

"He left without us! He said the janitor was locking up and we could find our own way home—after all, it's only twenty blocks!"

"He left without us!?"

"That's what I just said! The son of a bitch is getting back at us for trying to get more business for this pathetic place, even though it worked! His problem is that he's a control freak! He can't stand anyone but him having ideas!"

The janitor poked his head around the curtain at the sound of Daffodil shouting. She turned to glare at him.

"I suppose you're going to report on us for not rushing out into the cold and dark right away!"

"I ain't sayin' nothin'," he told her, turning away and going back to his work. "He did want you to leave before it got too late, though."

"Too late!? It's two o'clock in the morning. What does he think late is? Sunrise? He'll probably be sleeping off a hangover by then!"

"Daffodil, calm down." Rose put a hand on her friend's arm. "All this yelling isn't going to help us get home at this hour."

"It's only twenty blocks, Rose." Daffodil's voice was sarcastic. "I don't know why we came here in the first place. We should have stayed in Canada. At least then we wouldn't have to deal with that—"

"Daffodil." Rose interrupted her calmly. "I know you're mad. I am, too."

"You sure aren't acting like it!"

"That's because I'm waiting until I see him again. Yelling and screaming back here doesn't do any good."

"Well, you know me, Rose. I'm the passive-aggressive sort. I'll be sweet to your face and then stab you in the back when you aren't looking."

"Only with your uncle. The rest of the time, you're just plain aggressive."

"I am not!" Daffodil whirled around and started for the door. "Come on. It's a long walk home."

"Maybe we can get a cab. A lot of places are still open at this hour."

"Do you know how much that costs!? And how many drivers won't go to our neighborhood!?"

"I'm well aware it's expensive. But there must be some drivers who will take us home."

Daffodil snorted. "Not many. We'll get home faster walking."

"If we're not robbed, raped, and murdered on the way."

"There's two of us, and we've been in a lot of bad places."

"The place we're living in now is one of the worst. And there being two of us wouldn't deter a gang."

"I'll rip the face off anyone who crosses us!"

"Daffodil…" Rose sighed, trying to think of a way to cool her best friend's temper. "Why don't we go sit in one those all-night cafés on this street? I'm hungry anyway."

"How about a bar? I need a drink."

"No, you don't. Then you'll be mad and drunk…and knowing you, you'll pick a fight with someone and get us both in trouble. And I don't think your uncle will bail us out."

Daffodil sighed, clenching her fists and trying to control her temper.

"Fine…we'll do it your way. But no one had better mess with us!"

"I doubt anyone will. Messing with you is about as attractive a prospect as hugging a cactus when you get like this."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the two women were sitting at a table in a small café, perusing the menu and trying to warm up after walking in the cold, dark streets. As Rose had predicted, no one had bothered them, but Daffodil was still cranky and spoiling for a fight—or something laden with fat and sugar, whichever presented itself first.

"Damn, but it's cold out there," Daffodil complained irritably, rubbing her bare hands together—she'd left her gloves at home when they had left for the nightclub in the afternoon.

"It's a winter night in New York…what do you expect?" Rose was getting tired of listening to Daffodil complain.

"You could show a little sympathy. I think I have frostbite."

"You don't have frostbite. You haven't let your hands stay still long enough for anything to bite them, let alone frost."

"Where's that waitress? I need some coffee."

"I think she's on the phone with her boyfriend. She left the pot sitting right there, though—maybe you could help yourself."

"No. It's her job to serve me, and I'm going to let her do her job."

Rose sighed. "Suit yourself."

Daffodil was quiet for a few minutes, staring at the menu and leaving Rose in peace. When she'd decided what she wanted to eat, though, she looked up and started talking again.

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

"What?" Rose wasn't paying attention.

"Leaving. You know—the nightclub, Roland, New York…"

"Not right now. Not in the dead of winter. We have a place to live and steady jobs. Ask me again in the spring."

"I'm sick of Roland and his stupid nightclub."

"I noticed."

"And the cold."

"Daffodil, it's winter. Winter is cold."

"It's colder in some places than others."

"I know. It's undoubtedly much colder where we were living in Canada."

"It's cold here, too. But farther south—"

"Daffodil, this is the first steady work we've had in a long time. I'm not just going to up and leave because you're feeling chilly."

"I've been thinking about this since the new year."

"Where would we go, anyway? Do you have any other long-lost relatives or friends?"

"My parents live in New Mexico, but that's not what I had in mind."

"Then what is?"

"The southern states are pretty nice this time of year."

"Which one in particular?"

"Any that are warm."

"Most of them are warmer than here."

"Come on, Rose. It'll be an adventure. We have enough money for bus tickets now, so we won't have to hitchhike. We can move around and find work and do something other than work in Roland's crappy nightclub."

"Last week, we were trying to convince people that the nightclub was the place they wanted to be."

"That was different. We were advertising. You don't expect advertising to be honest, do you?"

"Whether someone finds that nightclub the place to be or not is up to them."

"Well, I don't find it the place to be."

"That's because you're working there."

"No, it's because Roland owns it." She looked at Rose slyly. "You wouldn't happen to be interested in a hostile takeover, would you?"

"I think we've gotten in enough trouble already."

"It might get us fired," Daffodil conceded. "Of course, then we'd have a reason to move on…"

"Daffodil!"

"Come on, Rose. At least promise me you'll think about it."

"A hostile takeover?"

"No! Leaving New York!" Her face took on a pleading look. "Please? I thought you were my friend."

"Don't push it."

"Just think about it. You don't like the cold anymore than I do."

"Daffodil…"

Daffodil gave her a puppy-eyed look.

"All right! Fine! I'll think about it. But don't push me. The fastest way to get me to say no is to nag me about something—as my mother could tell you."

Daffodil grinned. "Great! You won't regret it."

"Daffodil, I only said I would think about it…"

"I know. But once you start thinking about something—"

"—things happen." Rose groaned, putting her head down on the table.


	43. Rhyme and Reason 9

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Forty-Two**

_February 7, 2005  
New Orleans, Louisiana_

Rose and Daffodil stepped off the bus in the Central Business District of New Orleans, Rose glad to be off the bus and Daffodil just glad to be somewhere new.

Hefting their backpacks, they made their way out of the bus station, stopping to take in their surroundings.

"Finally!" Daffodil stretched dramatically, spinning around on one foot to take in everything at once. "I thought we'd never get here!"

"It did take a while," Rose conceded, "though taking the bus is faster than walking or hitchhiking—safer, too."

"And we're out of New York." Daffodil grinned, setting the straps of her backpack more firmly on her shoulders as they headed down the street. "Actually, I was kind of surprised that you wanted to come along."

"What else could I do? Stay in that rundown apartment by myself? I knew you wouldn't stay after Roland fired you."

Daffodil scowled. "He had no reason, either. I don't even know why he fired me."

"He didn't that I could see—except that maybe you won't kiss his ass and tell him how wonderful he is and what a great job he's doing."

"I loved the look on his face when you casually told him, as he was closing up, that 'by the way, I won't be back. I'm headed for New Orleans in a couple of hours.'" Daffodil sighed, examining her fingernails indifferently. "I wonder if he's found a new backup singer yet."

Rose shrugged. "Who knows? It's no more than he deserves for treating you so shabbily."

Daffodil stopped, turning to look at her. "You know what, Rose? You're a real friend. Not many people would just quit their job and take off like that because they thought their friend had been treated unfairly—and even pick a great destination while they're at it."

Rose smiled, but tried to seem nonchalant. "Well, you know me…I left home because my boyfriend died in an earthquake. I left the band in Wisconsin because I found out my next boyfriend knew he was HIV-positive and slept with me anyway…I'm good at picking up and leaving. Besides, I've had enough of asshole men…and your uncle definitely qualifies."

Daffodil shouted with laughter, drawing a few stares from passers-by. "I gotta love you, Rose. You're so honest."

Rose laughed, too, a little ruefully. "Yeah, that's me…honest to a fault…or so I've been told." She linked arms with Daffodil and the two started down the street again. "I love you, too…but platonically, okay?"

"Sure thing. Whatever you say."

Rose looked up at Daffodil, her eyes narrowing a little at the sparkle in her best friend's eyes.

"I mean it."

"Me, too."

Rose sighed. "Let's find someplace cheap to eat…I'm starving. Then we can look for a place to stay and see about finding jobs."

Daffodil nodded. "Sure. Food and jobs. But a place to stay might be a little hard to come by right now…tomorrow is Mardi Gras, after all."

"It is?"

Daffodil gave Rose a surprised look. "Yeah. Isn't that why you chose to come here?"

Rose shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking about it. I've just heard about this place a lot of times and decided I wanted to visit."

"You've never been here before?"

"No. Dad was always away on business trips and never had time for family vacations, and Mom's idea of a good vacation destination was someplace 'sophisticated'—Europe, New York, Miami, but definitely not New Orleans—on those occasions when she deigned to take me along. Usually I was left with friends when both my parents were gone. My friend Sophie came here once, though, and she said it was great."

"It is. I've been here three times—and celebrated Mardi Gras here twice. It's a great party—and you get to sneer at those killjoys who stand around protesting and telling everybody they're going to hell for having such fun. It's even more fun when two groups of protesters who hate each other see each other and start fighting. Then you just stand back and enjoy the show." Daffodil stopped under the awning of a small establishment. "Let's eat here. Great food, low prices, and nobody cares if you've been on a bus for four days."

"Sure." Bowing to Daffodil's greater knowledge of the city, Rose followed her inside.

Once they were seated and had menus in their hands, Daffodil asked, "So, is your friend Sophie from around here?"

Rose gave her a confused look. "What?"

"Your friend Sophie. You said she told you this city is great."

"She just visited here. She's from Arizona originally."

"Oh. A pity. If she had relatives here, maybe you could convince them to let us stay with them."

"I don't think so. Even if she had family here, I don't like to stay with strangers."

"You stayed with me after I found you in the mountains back in California."

"I had a concussion."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"You know I didn't mean it like that." Rose set her menu down as the waitress came to take their orders. Turning to her, she inquired, "You wouldn't happen to know of any places that are hiring around here, would you?"

The waitress gave her a blank look for a moment, evidently not expecting a question about job prospects. Finally, she told her, "Sure. We need a waitress. You looking for a job?"

"Yeah, and so's my friend. She's good at waitressing, too. Her last job was waiting tables at a nightclub in New York City."

The waitress looked at Daffodil as though she were crazy for leaving New York. "Did you want to apply?"

Daffodil shrugged. "Sure."

"I'll take you to the manager after I take your orders."

Daffodil looked at her hesitantly. "Um…I'm not exactly dressed for a job interview."

The waitress waved her off. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't care."

"Well, then, lead the way."

After taking their orders, the waitress led Daffodil toward a man clad in t-shirt and jeans who was working the cash register. Rose gave her friend a thumbs-up gesture as she approached him, hoping that at least one of them would soon have a job after this sudden move.


	44. Rhyme and Reason 10

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Forty-Three**

_February 8, 2005  
New Orleans, Louisiana_

At mid-afternoon, Rose and Daffodil emerged from the tiny, cheap motel room they were sharing with a group of four equally impoverished college students, eager to take part in the Mardi Gras festivities.

Daffodil had been hired at the small restaurant she had interviewed at, so she had worked the morning shift, returning to the motel at two o'clock that afternoon to find Rose and the two college girls giggling at themselves in the bathroom mirror, empty containers of hair dye scattered around. She had taken one look at Rose's newly orange hair and burst out laughing, earning a glower from her best friend and more giggles from the college girls.

"It was supposed to be blonde," Rose told her, shaking her head at her reflection in the mirror. "It just didn't quite work out that way." She started giggling again.

Daffodil saw the joint the three had been passing around and shook her head. "You'd better hope no one gives you a drug test, since you're supposed to be looking for a job."

Rose shrugged, not caring at the moment. "Whatever." She picked up the joint and held it out to Daffodil. "Want to try it?"

Daffodil shook her head. "Not this time. I think I'll be the responsible one for a change."

"That's different." Rose started to fix her hair, twisting it into messy cinnabuns. "I'm usually looking out for you."

Daffodil crowded into the bathroom with the others, trying to fix her hair in a slightly less messy style than Rose's. "I can take care of myself. I guess I'll have to take care of you tonight, too."

Rose laughed, waving a finger in Daffodil's face. "Don't take care of me too good. I'm not that kind of girl."

One of the college guys stuck his head into the bathroom, a joint dangling from his fingers. "Are you two lesbians or something?"

Daffodil tossed her head. "Only for her."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "Not me." She giggled. "I don't like anybody very much!"

"Men are scum," Daffodil agreed.

"I resent that!" The other college guy looked into the bathroom.

"Present company excepted, of course."

"Whatever."

Daffodil stopped fussing with her hair, concluding that it wasn't going to cooperate with any style she tried. Rose looked at her and giggled.

"Maybe you can get some flowers and be a real daffodil!" she suggested, finishing pinning the messy cinnabuns in place.

"Do you want me to help you with that?" Daffodil asked, shaking her head. "You look like a cross between Princess Leia and a carrot."

Rose looked offended for a moment, then reached for the hairspray. "Nope. I think I look gorgeous." She brushed at her outfit—tight, worn jeans that she'd had since the band had spent the winter in Phoenix and a brightly-colored, low-cut top that she'd found at a thrift store in New York, making sure that she hadn't spilled anything on it, then turned to Daffodil. Taking another drag from the joint, she asked, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. My hair's not gonna do what I want anyway." She took the joint from Rose, putting it into a shallow ashtray on the sink. "You are obnoxious when you're high!"

Rose giggled. "I know. Isn't it great?"

"Not really." Daffodil opened the door of the motel room. "Let's go. You'll get over it sooner away from all this smoke."

*****

Just as Daffodil had said, the air was cleaner outside, but it still took a while before Rose's marijuana-induced high began to wear off. In the meantime, Daffodil did her best to restrain Rose, who had suddenly developed the opinion that everyone and everything was worth laughing at and interfering with, especially the religious groups protesting the celebration of Mardi Gras. After wrestling a sign that Rose had snatched from a surprised minister out of her hand and reluctantly returning it to its owner, lecturing Rose that everyone had a right to their opinion, even if they disagreed with it, Daffodil dragged her inside a busy café, determined to keep her out of trouble until she calmed down.

"You are making a total ass of yourself, you know that?" she scolded Rose as they sat down at a corner table.

Some people stared at them, but considering the occasion and the number of party-goers, even at this early hour, Rose didn't stand out too much.

The high was starting to wear off, but Rose wasn't quite back to her usual down-to-earth self yet. She stared at Daffodil, then retorted, "I'm turning into a four-legged animal that says 'hee-haw'?"

Daffodil sighed. Initially, she'd been amused by Rose's antics, but soon got annoyed when her best friend tried to drag her into her nonsense. "No. The other kind."

"I'm hungry." Rose ignored Daffodil's scolding and changed the subject.

"I'll bet you are, after smoking that joint." At Rose's blank look, she elaborated, "That's one of the reasons why marijuana is good for cancer and stuff—it makes you hungry so you don't waste away."

"Oh." Rose was rapidly returning to her normal self. "Well, I skipped lunch, too. What about you?"

"I ate at work. I get a discount on food because I work there."

"Oh." Rose looked at her menu. "I'll just get a little bit to eat, then. We can have dinner later."

"Considering that it's only 2:30 in the afternoon, I hope so."

"What—you mean you've never gotten high?"

"Yes, but I didn't this time, so I can afford to be superior."

"Shut up."

"Glad to see you're back to normal. Marijuana kills brain cells, you know."

"I'm not a pothead!"

"You were this afternoon."

"Shut up. It was one joint shared with two other people. Besides, I used to smoke a little with Angel and Jim. I'm used to it."

"Still, you are sure obnoxious when you're high. Besides, you can't be sure of what's in a joint—it might be laced with something else."

"Hypocrite." Rose glared at her, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.

*****

Rose was considerably calmer by the time they left the café an hour later, only a vestige of her earlier high remaining. The two women moved through the streets companionably, enjoying the festivities, although Daffodil couldn't resist teasing Rose about her earlier behavior from time to time.

As they stopped to stare at two preachers who had been protesting the festivities and had subsequently decided to get into a fight over who was more likely to go to hell, Daffodil whispered, "Now would be a good time to steal their signs."

"Shut up."

"You seemed to think it was such a good idea a few hours ago."

"I wasn't thinking then."

"And now you think it's a bad idea?"

Rose didn't reply, but instead stood looking pensively at the two preachers, whose fight had been broken up by a police officer and were now united in the idea that the police officer and the spectators were going to hell.

Daffodil waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Rose."

"Hmm?" Rose turned to look at her. "Oh…what?"

"The show's over. Let's go find something else to do."

"Did you ever think they might be right?"

"Who?"

"Those preachers."

Daffodil gave her a strange look. "Uh…no." She raised an eyebrow. "What's the harm in having a little fun?"

"Nothing, I guess." Rose turned away, looking around the street thronged with people. "Let's go find something to do."

*****

As the hours passed, Daffodil grew more and more concerned about Rose. She continued to be melancholy, in spite of the parties going on all around them. Twice more she stopped to stare at religious protesters, frowning and shaking her head slightly as though confused. Finally, she used her Rose Dawson ID—which showed her to be two years older than she actually was—to get into a bar, where she ordered an enormous margarita and commenced gulping it down like it was water.

Daffodil sat at the table across from her, an untouched beer in front of her, and stared at Rose worriedly, wondering if Rose's unusually melancholy behavior in such a festive atmosphere was the result of the marijuana she had smoked, or whether it was just another of the blue funks Rose seemed to go into from time to time.

Finally, when Rose had finished her margarita and was eyeing Daffodil's beer longingly, Daffodil spoke up.

"Okay…do you mind telling me what's wrong, why you're being like this?"

"Being like what?" Rose's words were slurred as she reached for Daffodil's beer, scowling as her friend moved it away and took a drink herself.

"All sad and depressed and everything. I mean, you don't usually smoke pot or drink this much."

"It's Mardi Gras. I'm having fun."

"That's why you keep looking sad and asking if those religious killjoys out on the street might be right."

"I only asked that once."

"Considering that you were trying to steal their signs earlier, once is enough. Besides, you keep looking sad."

"I was high when I tried to take those signs."

"You don't usually smoke pot…or dye your hair strange colors."

"That was ac—axsh—stupid."

"Or drink this much."

"It was one Margaret."

"Margarita."

"Whatever."

"One margarita the size of a swimming pool, and now you're slurring your words, and I bet you'll be staggering when you stand up."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Daffodil shook her head. "Seriously, Rose, was there something in that marijuana, or does this day have some bad memories for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is this about your boyfriend or something?"

Rose gave her a strange look. "No…his parents hadn't decided to move yet."

Daffodil looked at her in confusion. "Whose parents hadn't decided to move yet?"

"Juan's."

"Who's Juan?"

"My boyfriend back then."

"Back when?"

Rose gave her an exasperated look. "Back when my dad died."

Daffodil nodded, a look of understanding coming across her face. "Let me guess…your dad died on Mardi Gras."

"No…jus' when I was at a party. Mom wouldn't let me go to parties on Tuesdays."

"But was it a Mardi Gras party?"

Rose rolled her eyes at Daffodil half-heartedly. "Yesh."

Daffodil sighed. "So, I take it that you were at a party when your dad died, and now you're feeling guilty."

"I didn' kill 'im."

"I know that, Rose. You told me he died of AIDS."

"I'm not guilty."

"But you weren't there when he died because you were out having fun."

Rose turned to glare at Daffodil. "Quit pickin' on me. I didn' know it'd happen so fas'. He'd been sick for months."

"But you still felt bad."

"Duh…he was my dad."

"So you're upset now because Mardi Gras reminds you of the fact that you weren't there when your dad died."

Rose put her head down on the table, suddenly looking very tired. "I guesh."

"Maybe we should just go back to the motel."

Rose lifted her head a little. "Yeah…those college kids prob'ly ain't back yet…we can have some privacy."

"Privacy? For what?" Daffodil's eyes widened. "Wait a minute…no. No, no, no. We are not getting together because you're drunk, depressed, and need comfort. You'd hate me in the morning, because you've made it clear that you're not interested in me that way, and I'd hate myself for taking advantage of you."

"Guys've took advantage of me."

"I'm not one of those guys. I'm your best friend."

"But…"

"No, Rose. If you still feel the same way when you're sober…if you even remember this conversation…then maybe we'll have something."

"Fuck you." Rose put her head back down on the table.

"Not tonight."

Rose didn't respond. She let out a soft snore, her mouth hanging open slightly.

Daffodil put her head in her hands, trying to figure out how she was going to get Rose back to the motel in her drunken state and hoping that coming to New Orleans wouldn't prove to be a very bad idea.


	45. Rhyme and Reason 11

**A JOURNEY OF ONE  
Chapter Forty-Four**

Daffodil took another drink of her beer, staring at Rose as she snored. Somehow, she would have to get Rose to wake up before she attempted to get her back to the motel. Daffodil was strong, but there was no way she could carry her drunken friend that far, and she couldn't afford a taxi.

When Rose still hadn't stirred by the time Daffodil had finished her drink, she got up and headed for the bar. "Do you have coffee here?" she asked the bartender, hoping that he'd give her time to wake Rose up before throwing them out.

The man glanced at Rose, who stirred slightly, then went back to snoring. "I got it, but it ain't gonna sober 'er up."

"Just give me a cup, will you? I have to try."

"It'll wake 'er up, if you can get it down 'er, but she'll still be drunk—just wide awake and drunk."

"Well, I have to do something!" Daffodil snapped. "I can't get her back to the motel like this."

The bartender shrugged and went to get the requested coffee, adding it to the bill. He handed it to Daffodil, shaking his head.

Ignoring him, Daffodil went back to the table and shook Rose slightly. "Rose…come on. Wake up."

Rose mumbled to herself and went on sleeping.

"Rose, wake up! You can't sleep here!" Daffodil shook her harder.

"No," Rose responded, opening her eyes for a moment before trying to return to her nap.

Exasperated, Daffodil grabbed Rose's orange cinnabuns and yanked her head up. "We have to get back to the motel. You can sleep it off there." She pushed the cup of coffee towards Rose.

"Owww…leggo of me." Rose gave her a dirty look, trying to put her head back down.

"Drink this coffee. You're too heavy to carry." Daffodil tugged on Rose's hair again, putting the cup into her hand and guiding it towards her mouth.

Rose took a sip, then grimaced, trying to put the cup down. "Yuck."

"Drink it anyway, and maybe next time you'll think before you drink so much." When Rose tried again to push the cup away, Daffodil jammed it against her mouth. "You'll drink this if I have to pour it down your throat!"

Several patrons had noticed them by now and were watching. Daffodil gave them a dirty look, encouraging them to mind their own business. Rose was oblivious.

Daffodil grasped the cup tightly in one hand, reaching with the other to pinch Rose's nose shut in an attempt to get her to open her mouth. Rose pulled her head away, finally taking the coffee in one unstable and hand and drinking it, some of it spilling down her front. She glared sullenly at Daffodil the whole time.

When Rose had finally finished the coffee, Daffodil fished in Rose's purse for money to pay for the margarita and coffee, then hurried to pay their bill. When she returned to the table, Rose was getting to her feet, staggering and looking as though she was ready to fall over.

Daffodil put Rose's arm over her shoulder to hold her up, leading her towards the door. Rose leaned heavily against her, nearly knocking them both over.

By the time they had walked a block, it had become obvious that the bartender had been right—the coffee had done nothing to sober Rose up. She was still drunk, but between the caffeine, the cool night air, and the motion from walking slowly down the street, she was wide awake.

It was growing late, but the streets were still crowded with Mardi Gras revelers. Rose giggled uncontrollably at a group of men in women's clothing and heavy makeup, one of whom stopped and put several strings of shiny metallic beads around the necks of both women. Daffodil gave them apologetic looks as she guided Rose away from them and down the street.

"You're lucky those guys had a sense of humor," she hissed at Rose when they were out of earshot. "Not everyone does."

Daffodil's words proved true when they came across the next person to catch Rose's attention—a stern-looking man with a sign reading _Mardi Gras: Satan's Feast_. He was glowering at the party-goers, holding out the sign as though he was warding off evil.

For some reason, Rose found this irresistible. Breaking away from Daffodil, she moved unsteadily towards him, clumsily removing one of the strings of Mardi Gras beads that the cross-dressers had given her.

"Wha's 'a matter?" she asked, a wide grin appearing on her face. "Doncha wanna have fun?"

He backed away slightly, staring at her as though she'd lost her mind. Daffodil tried to pull Rose away.

"Rose, come on. Leave him alone."

"I jus' wanna get him to have fun."

"He doesn't want to have fun. If he did, he wouldn't be standing there with that stupid sign."

"Sure 'e does." Rose lifted the string of pink beads, draping them over the sign.

"Get away from me, you spawn of Satan!" The man shook the beads off and stared at them as though they might bite him, his eyes filled with a not-quite-sane look.

"Rose, come on!" Daffodil tugged at her arm, wishing they were back in the bar, anywhere but dealing with a now very angry and frightened mental patient. "Come on!"

In spite of her inebriation, Rose was beginning to comprehend that this was one demonstrator she shouldn't harass. She took a step backward, ready to walk away, but stepped on the beads he had dropped. Already off-balance, the beads proved too much for her and she tumbled to the ground, landing at the man's feet.

Daffodil rushed to help Rose to her feet, but the man brought the sign down on her head. She staggered, falling to her knees next to Rose.

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!" the man shouted. He gave Daffodil a shove, knocking her down on top of Rose, who was trying to get up. "He will condemn to Hell these agents of the United Nations who will not give me their bodies and brains." One hand still clutching the sign, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a screwdriver.

Recognizing the danger, Daffodil got to her knees quickly, grabbing his crotch and twisting before he could bring the screwdriver down on her. The man bellowed in pain, dropping the screwdriver and sign and grabbing Daffodil's hair instead in an attempt to make her let go.

Rose was growing more sober by the moment. When Daffodil screamed as the man grabbed her hair and yanked, she pushed herself to her feet, still somewhat unsteady from the amount of alcohol she'd consumed.

"Let go of her, you son of a bitch!" Rose launched herself at him, one hand latching onto his ear and pulling while the other punched clumsily at whatever she could reach.

Suddenly finding himself under attack by two women, the man stared in confusion for a moment, his hands still tangled in Daffodil's hair, before abruptly letting go and jerking away from Rose, her fingernails leaving a long scratch down the side of his face.

Grabbing his sign again, he swung it at them. "The Lord will protect me from demons!" he screamed, narrowly missing Rose.

Daffodil grabbed the sign and held on, trying to wrest it away from him. They fought for a moment, locked in a tug-of-war, while Rose scrabbled frantically in the darkness for the screwdriver.

"What the hell is going on here?!" a voice shouted, startling the embattled trio.

Rose turned, her eyes widening at the sight of two police officers hurrying towards them. Giving up the search for the screwdriver, she pulled herself to her feet, staggering a little and holding onto the wall as she did so.

"These agents of Satan will not share their sex and brains," the man told the cops matter-of-factly, still trying to shake Daffodil off the other end of the sign.

"He attacked us!" Daffodil exclaimed, finally letting go of the sign and hurrying in the direction of the police. Surprised by her sudden move, the man stumbled back against the wall.

"Yes," Rose added, not realizing that her words were still slurred. She felt completely sober now, though she was still a ways from it. "I was trying to get him to join the party, and he—"

"All three of you are under arrest," one of the cops told her, pulling her arms behind her back and snapping on a set of handcuffs. "Public drunkenness…" He looked at the man with the sign, who was now cowering against the wall. "Assault and battery…" He looked at Daffodil. "Disturbing the peace…"

When all three were handcuffed and their pockets searched for weapons, the other cop began to read them their rights. "You have the right to remain silent—"

"We didn't do anything!" Rose exclaimed. "He attacked us!"

"Shut up, Rose!" Daffodil told her, glowering at her. "This is all your fault."

"My fault!? He attacked us!"

"I told you to leave him alone!"

"Ladies!" the cop warned, separating them and giving them both quelling looks.

Still staring angrily at each other, they let him finish reading them their rights. The mental patient stared at his confiscated sign the whole time.

A second police car pulled up behind the first, another cop emerging from it.

"Take these two," the police officer who had read them their rights told her, gesturing to Rose and Daffodil. "The charges are disturbing the peace and public inebriation." He and his partner escorted the mental patient towards their car. "We'll take care of this one."

"Come on, you two." The female police officer pushed Rose and Daffodil towards her car.

"You're an idiot," Daffodil mumbled to Rose as they climbed awkwardly into the back of the police car.

"Both of you shut up," the cop warned them as she shut the door.

Rose ignored both of them, trying to find a comfortable position with her handcuffs and trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten into this predicament.


End file.
